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In the Palace of the King. 

PEREZ FALLS IN LOVE WITH THE 
Aileon Pringle. 


P Goldwyn Cosmopolitan 
PRINCESS OF EBOLI. 
William V. Mong, 


Picture. 












IN THE PALACE 
OF THE KING 

A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 

BY 

F. MARION CRAWFORD 

ILLUSTRATED WITH SCENES 
FROM THE PHOTOPLAY 
DISTRIBUTED BY 
GOLDWYN COSMOPOLITAN 



GROSSET & DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS NEW YORK 

Published by Arrangement with The Macmillan Company 
[Rights of Translation reserved in all Countries .] 


Made in the United States of America 







Copyright, 1900 

BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 


1 


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IN THE PALACE OP THE KING 


A Sour ®tnrg nf <®1& HaiinJi 






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En mg nib frimtis 
GEORGE P. BRETT 




New York, October, 1900 





m THE PALACE OF THE KING 
gl 3Lofae <Storg of ©Itr JHatiriXi 


CHAPTER I 

Two young girls sat in a high though very narrow 
room of the old Moorish palace to which King Philip 
the Second had brought his court when he finally made 
Madrid his capital. It was in the month of November;, 
in the afternoon, and the light was cold and grey, for 
the two tall windows looked due north, and a fine rain 
had been falling all the morning. The stones in the 
court were drying now, in patches, but the sky was 
like a smooth vault of cast lead, closing over the city 
that lay to the northward, dark, wet and still, as if its 
life had shrunk down under ground, away from the 
bitter air and the penetrating damp. 

The room was scantily furnished, but the few objects 
it contained, the carved table, the high-backed chairs 
and the chiselled bronze brazier, bore the stamp of the 
time when art had not long been born again. On the 
walls there were broad tapestries of bold design, show 
- ing green forests populated by all sorts of animals in 
stiff attitudes, staring at one another in perpetual sur¬ 
prise. Below the tapestry a carved walnut wainscoting 
went round the room, and the door was panelled and 


TM THE PALACE OP TH® KING 


ianked by fluted doorposts of the same dark wood, on 
winch, rested corbels fashioned into curling acanthus 
leaves, to hold up the cornice, which itself made a high 
shelf over the door. Three painted Italian vases, filled 
with last summer’s rose leaves and carefully sealed lest 
the faint perfume should be lost, stood symmetrically 
on this projection, their contents slowly ripening for 
future use. The heap of white ashes, under which the 
wood coals were still alive in the big brazier, diffused 
& little warmth through the chilly room. 

The two girls were sitting at opposite ends of the 
table. The one held a long goose-quill pen, and before 
her lay several large sheets of paper covered with fine 
writing. Her eyes followed the lines slowly, and from 
time to time she made a correction in the manuscript. 
As she read, her lips moved to form words, but she 
made no sound. Now and then a faint smile lent sin¬ 
gular beauty to her face, and there was more light in 
her eyes, too; then it disappeared again, and she read 
on, carefully and intently, as if her soul were in the 
work. 

She was very fair, as Spaniards sometimes are still, 
.and were more often in those days, with golden hair 
and deep grey eyes; she had the high features, the 
smooth white throat, and the finely modelled ears that 
were the outward signs of the lordly Gothic race 0 
When she was not smiling, her face was sad, and some- 
times the delicate colour left her clear cheek and she 
grew softly pale, till she seemed almost delicate. Then 
the sensitive nostrils quivered almost imperceptibly* 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 


s 


sad the curving lips met closely as if to keep a secret j 
but that look came seldom, and for the most part her 
eyes were quiet and her mouth was kind. It was a face 
that expressed devotion, womanly courage, and sensi¬ 
tiveness rather than an active and dominating energy,, 
The girl was indeed a full-grown woman, more than 
twenty years of age, but the early bloom of girlhood 
was on her still, and if there was a little sadness in the 
eyes, a man could guess well enough that it rose from 
the heart, and had but one simple source, which was 
neither a sudden grief nor a long-hidden sorrow, but 
Duly youth’s one secret — love. Maria Dolores de Men¬ 
doza imew all of fear for the man she loved, that any 
woman could know, and much of the hope that is love’s 
early life; but she knew neither the grief, nor the dis¬ 
appointment, nor the shame for another, nor for herself, 
nor any of the bitterness that love may bring. She 
did not believe that such things could be wrung from 
hearts that were true and faithful; and in that she 
was right. The man to whom she had given her heart 
and soul and hope had given her his, and if she feared 
for him, it was not lest he should forget her or his own 
honour. He was a man among men, good and true; 
but he was a soldier, and a leader, who daily threw his 
life to the battle, as Douglas threw the casket that held 
the Bruce’s heart into the thick of the fight, to win it 
back, or die. The man she loved was Don John of 
Austria, the son of the great dead Emperor Charles 
the Fifth, the uncle of dead Don Carlos and the half 
brother of King Philip of Spain—*the man who wen 


m THE PALACE OF THE KING 


glory by land and sea, who won bach Granada a second 
time from the Moors, as bravely as his great grand¬ 
father Ferdinand had won it, but less cruelly, who won 
Lepanto, his brother’s hatred and a death by poison* 
the foulest stain in Spanish history. 

It was November now, and it had been June of the 
preceding year when he had ridden away from Madrid 
to put down the Moriscoes, who had risen savagely 
against the hard Spanish rule. He had left Dolores de 
Mendoza an hour before he mounted, in the freshness of 
the early summer morning, where they had met many a 
time, on a lonely terrace above the King’s apartments. 
There were roses there, growing almost wild in great 
earthen jars, where some Moorish woman had planted 
them in older days, and Dolores could go there unseen 
with her blind sister, who helped her faithfully, on pre¬ 
tence of taking the poor girl thither to breathe the 
sweet quiet air* For Inez was painfully sensitive of 
her affliction* and suffered, besides blindness, all that 
an over-sensitive and imaginative being can feel. 

She was quite blind, with no memory of light, though 
she had been born seeing, as other children. A scarlet 
fever had destroyed her sight. Motherless from her 
birth, her father often absent in long campaigns, she 
had been at the mercy of a heartless nurse, who had 
loved the fair little Dolores and had secretly tormented 
the younger child, as soon as she was able to under¬ 
stand, bringing her up to believe that she was so re¬ 
pulsively ugly as to be almost a monster. Later, when 
i&be nurse was gone, and Dolores was a little older, 


A LOVE STOBY OF OLD MADBID 


the latter had done all she could to heal the craei 
wound and to make her sister know that she had soft 
dark hair, a sad and gentle face, with eyes that were 
quite closed, and a delicate mouth that had a little half 
painful, half pathetic way of twitching when anything 
hurt her,-—for she was easily hurt. Very pale always, 
she turned her face more upwards than do people who 
have sight, and being of good average woman’s height 
and very slender and finely made, this gave her carriage 
an air of dignity that seemed almost pride when she 
was offended or wounded. But the first hurt had been 
deep and lasting, and she could never quite believe 
that she was not offensive to the eyes of those who saw 
her, still less that she was sometimes almost beautiful 
in a shadowy, spiritual way. The blind, of all their 
sufferings, often feel most keenly the impossibility of 
knowing whether the truth is told them about their 
own looks; and he who will try and realize what it is 
to have been always sightless will understand that this 
is not vanity, but rather a sort of diffidence towards 
which all people should be very kind. Of all neces¬ 
sities of this world, of all blessings, of all guides to 
truth, God made light first. There are many sharp 
pains, many terrible sufferings and sorrows in life 
that come and wrench body and soul, and pass at last 
either into alleviation or recovery, or into the rest of 
death; but of those that abide a lifetime and do not 
take life itself, the worst is hopeless darkness. We 
call ignorance 6 blindness,’ and rage i blindness/ and w@ 
say a man is ° blind ’ with grief® 


6 


IN THE PALACE OF THE KIN(£ 


Inez sat opposite her sister, at the other end of the 
table, listening. She knew what Dolores was doing, 
how during long months her sister had written a letter^ 
from time to time, in little fragments, to give to the 
man she loved, to slip into his hand at the first 
brief meeting or to drop at his feet in her glove, or 
even, perhaps, to pass to him by the blind girl’s quick 
fingers. For Inez helped the lovers always, and Don 
John was very gentle with her, talking with her when 
he could, and even leading her sometimes when she was 
in a room she did not know. Dolores knew that she 
could only hope to exchange a word with him when 
he came back, and that the terrace was bleak and wet 
now, and the roses withered, and that her father feared 
for her, and might do some desperate thing if he found 
her lover talking with her where no one could see or 
hear. For old Mendoza knew the world and the court, 
and he foresaw that sooner or later some royal marriage 
would be made for Don John of Austria, and that even 
if Dolores were married to him, some tortuous means 
would be found to annul her marriage, whereby a 
great shame would darken his house. Moreover, he 
was the King’s man, devoted to Philip body and soul, 
as his sovereign, ready to give his life ten times for his 
sovereigns word, and thinking it treason to doubt a 
royal thought or motive. He was a rigid old man, a 
Spaniard of Spain’s great days, fearless, proud, intoler¬ 
ant, making Spain’s honour his idol, capable of gentle¬ 
ness only to his children, and loving them dearly, but 
with that sort of severity and hardness in all questions 


A LOYE STORY OF OLD MADRID % ' 

where his authority was concerned which can make a 
father’s true affection the most intolerable burden to a 
girl of heart, and which, where a son is its object, leads 
sooner or later to fierce quarrels and lifelong estrange¬ 
ment. And so it had happened now. For the two 
girls had a brother much older than they, Rodrigo 5 
and he had borne to be treated like a boy until he 
could bear no more, and then he had left his father’s 
house in anger to find out his own fortune in the world, 
as many did in his day,—a poor gentleman seeking 
distinction in an army of men as brave as himself, and 
as keen to win honour on every field. Then, as if to 
oppose his father in everything, he had attached him¬ 
self to Don John, and was spoken of as the latter’s 
friend, and Mendoza feared lest his son should help 
Don John to a marriage with Dolores. But in this 
he was mistaken, for Rodrigo was as keen, as much 
a Spaniard, and as much devoted to the honour of his 
name as his father could be ; and though he looked 
upon Don Juhn as the very ideal of what a soldier 
and a prince should be, he would have cut off his own 
right hand rather than let it give his leader the letter 
Dolores had been writing so long; and she knew this and 
feared her brother, and tried to keep her secret from him. 

Inez knew all, and she also was afraid of Rodrigo 
and of her father, both for her sister’s sake and her 
own. So, in that divided house, the father was against 
the son, and the daughters were allied against them 
both, not in hatred, but in terror and because of Da 
lores 5 great love for Don John of Austria, 


8 


IN THE PALACE OF THE KING 


As they sat at the table it began to rain again, and 
the big drops beat against the windows furiously for a 
few minutes* The panes were round and heavy, and 
of a greenish yellow colour, made of blown glass, each 
with a sort of knob in the middle, where the iron blow- 
pipe had been separated from the hot mass. It was 
impossible to see through them at all distinctly, and 
when the sky was dark with rain they admitted only a 
lurid glare into the room, which grew cold and colour¬ 
less again when the rain ceased. Inez had been sitting 
motionless a long time, her elbow on the table, her chin 
resting upon her loosely clasped white hands, her blind 
face turned upward, listening to the turning of the 
pages and to the occasional scratching of her sister’s 
pen. She sighed, moved, and let her hands fall upon 
the table before her in a helpless, half despairing way, 
as she leaned back in the big carved chair. Dolores 
looked up at once, for she was used to helping her sis¬ 
ter in her slightest needs and to giving her a ready 
sympathy in every mood. 

"W hat is it ? she asked quickly, u Do you want 
anything, dear ? ” 

tt Have you almost finished ? ” 

The girl’s voice would almost have told that she was 
blind. It was sweet and low, but it lacked life; though 
not weak, it was uncertain in strength and full of a 
longing that could never be satisfied, but that often 
seemed to come within possible reach of satisfaction. 
There was in the tones, too, the perpetual doubt of one 
from whom anything might be hidden by silence, or by 


A LOVE STORY OP OLD MADRID 


the least turn of words. Every passing hope and fear, 
and every pleasure and pain, were translated into sound 
by its quick changes. It trusted but could not always 
quite promise to believe; it swelled and sank as the 
sensitive heart beat faster or slower. It came from a 
world without light, in which only sound had meaning, 
and only touch was certainty. 

“Yes,” answered Dolores. “I have almost finished 
—■ there is only half a page more to read over.” 

“ And why do you read it over ? ” asked Inez. “ Do 
you change what you have written ? Do you not think 
now exactly as you did when you wrote ? ” 

“No; I feel a great deal more — I want better 
words ! And then it all seems so little, and so badly 
written, and I want to say things that no one ever said 
before, many, many things. He will laugh —no, not 
that! How could he ? But my letter will seem 
childish to him. I know it will. I wish I had never 
written it! Do you think I had better give it to him, 
after all?” 

“How can I tell?” asked Inez hopelessly. “You 
have never read it to me. I do not know what you 
have said to him.” 

“I have said that I love him as no man was ever 
loved before,” answered Dolores, and the true words 
seemed to thrill with a life of their own as she spoke 
them. 

Then she was silent for a moment, and looked down 
at the written pages without seeing them. Inez did 
not move, and seemed hardly to breathe. Then Doloref 


10 


m THE PALACE OP THE KING 


spoke again, pressing both her hands upon the paper 
before her unconsciously. 

“ I have told him that I love him, and shall love him 
for ever and ever,” she said ; “ that I will live for him, 
die for him, suffer for him, serve him l I have told 
him all that and much more.” 

“ More ? That is much already. But he loves you, 
too. There is nothing you can promise which he will 
not promise, and keep, too, I think. But more I What 
more can you have said than that ? ” 

“ There is nothing I would not say if I could find 
words ! ” 

There was a fulness of life in her voice which, to the 
other’s uncertain tones, was as sunshine to moonlight. 

“ You will find words when you see him this even¬ 
ing,” said Inez slowly. “And they will be better 
than anything you can write. Am I to give him your 
letter ?” 

Dolores looked at her sister quickly, for there was & 
little constraint in the accent of the last phrase. 

“ 1 do not know,” she answered. “ How can I tell 
what may happen, or how I shall see him first ? ” 

“ You will see him from the window presently. I 
can hear the guards forming already to meet him— and 
you— you will be able to see him from the window.” 

Inez had stopped and had finished her speech, as if 
something had choked her. She turned sideways in 
ner chair when she had spoken, as if to listen better, 
%r she was seated with her back to the light. 

44 1 wiU tell you everything,” said Maria Dolores 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 12 

softly. 44 It will be almost as if yon could see him, 
too.” 

44 Almost — ” 

Inez spoke the one word and broke off abruptly, and 
rose from her chair. In the familiar room she moved 
almost as securely as if she could see. She went to the 
window and listened. Dolores came and stood beside 

her. 

44 What is it, dear ? ” she asked. 45 What is the mat¬ 
ter ? What has hurt you ? Tell me ! ” 

44 Nothing,” answered the blind girl, 44 nothing, dear. 
I was thinking —»how lonely I shall be when you and 
he are married, and they send me to a convent, or to 
our dismal old house in Valladolid.” 

A faint colour came into her pale face, and feeling it 
she turned away from Dolores; for she was not speak¬ 
ing the truth, or at least not half of it all. 

44 1 will not let you go ! ” answered Dolores, putting 
one arm round her sister’s waist. 44 They shall never 
take you from me. And if in many years from now 
we are married, you shall always be with us, and I will 
always take care of you as I do now, 9 "' 

Inez sighed and pressed her forehead and blind eyes 
to the cold window, almost withdrawing herself from 
the pressure of Dolores’ arm. Down below there was 
tramping of heavy feet, as the companies of foot 
guards took their places, marching across the broad 
space, in their wrought steel caps and breastplates, ear« 
rying their tasselled halberds on their shoulders. An 
officer s voice gave sharp commands. The gust that 


12 IN THE PALACE OF THE KING 

Imd brought the rain had passed by, and a drizzling 
mist, caused by a sudden chill, now completely obscured 
the window. 

“ Can you see anything ? ” asked Inez suddenly, in a 
low voice. “ I think I hear trumpets far away.” 

“ I cannot see — there is mist on the glass, too. Do 
you hear the trumpets clearly ? ” 

“I think I do. Yes—-I hear them clearly now.” 
She stopped. “ He is coming,” she added under her 
breath. 

Dolores listened, but she had not the almost super¬ 
natural hearing of the blind, and could distinguish 
nothing but the tramping of the soldiers below, and her 
sister’s irregular breathing beside her, as Inez held her 
breath again and again in order to catch the very 
faint and distant sound. 

“Open the window,” she said almost sharply, “I 
know I hear the trumpets.” 

Her delicate fingers felt for the bolts with almost 
feverish anxiety. Dolores helped her and opened the 
window wide. A strain of distant clarions sounding 
a triumphant march came floating across the wet city. 
Dolores started, and her face grew radiant, while her 
fresh lips opened a little as if to drink in the sound 
with the wintry air. Beside her, Inez grew slowly 
pale and held herself by the edge of the window frame, 
gripping it hard, and neither of the two girls felt any 
sensation of cold. Dolores’ grey eyes grew wide and 
bright as she gazed fixedly towards the city where the 
avenue that led to the palace began, but Inez, bending 


j 


A IX)YE ST€BY OF OLB MAX3BIB 


13 


a littlej turned her ear in the same direction, as if 
she could not bear to lose a single note of the music 
that told her how Don John of Austria had come horn© 
in triumph, safe and whole, from his long campaign 
in the south. 

Slowly it came nearer, strain upon strain, each mor© 
clear and loud and full of rejoicing. At first only the 
high-pitched clarions had sent their call to the window, 
but now the less shrill trumpets made rich harmonies 
to the melody, and the deep bass horns gave the march- 
mg time to the rest, in short full blasts that set the 
whole air shaking as with little peals of thunder. Be¬ 
low, the mounted officers gave orders, exchanged short 
phrases, cantered to their places, and came back again a 
moment later to make some final arrangement —their 
splendid gold-inlaid corslets and the rich caparisons of 
their horses looking like great pieces of jewelry that 
moved hither and thither in the thin grey mist, while 
the dark red and yellow uniforms of the household 
guards surrounded the square on three sides with 
broad bands of colour. Dolores could see her father, 
who commanded them and to whom the officers cam© 
for orders, sitting motionless and erect on his big black 
horse — a stern figure, with close-cut grey beard, clad 
all in black saving his heavily gilded breastplate and 
the silk sash he wore across it from shoulder to sword 
knot. She shrank back a little, for she would not hava 
let him see her looking down from an upper window 
to welcome the returning visitor. 

u Wh&t is it? Do you see Mm? Is he there 1 n 


14 


IN THE PALACE OP THE KIN© 


Inez asked the questions in a breath, as she heard Eel 
sister move. 

w No — our father is below on his horse. He must 
not see us.” And she moved further into the embra¬ 
sure. 

44 \ou will not be able to see,” said Inez anxiously. 
w How can you tell me—■! mean, how can you see, 
where you are ? ” 

Dolores laughed softly, but her laugh trembled with 
the happiness that was coming so soon. 

44 Oh, I see very well,” she answered. *The window 
is wide open, you know.” 

46 Yes — I know.” 

Inez leaned back against the wall beside the window, 
letting her hand drop in a hopeless gesture. The 
simple answer had hurt her, who could never see, by 
its mere thoughtlessness and by the joy that made her 
sister’s voice quaver. The music grew louder and 
louder, and now there came with it the sound of a 
great multitude, cheering, singing the march with the 
trumpets, shouting for Don John; and all at once as 
the throng burst from the street to the open avenue 
the voices drowned the clarions for a moment, and a 
vast cry of triumph filled the whole air. 

44 He is there ! He is there I ” repeated Inez, leaning 
towards the window and feeling for the stone sill. 

But Dolores could not hear for the shouting. The 
clouds had lifted to the westward and northward j and 
as the afternoon sun sank lower they broke away, 
the level rays drank up the gloom of the wintry 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID M 

m an instant. Dolores stood motionless before 
the window, nndazzled, like a statue of ivory and 
gold in a stone niche. With the light, as the ad¬ 
vancing procession sent the people before it, the 
trumpets rang high and clear again, and the bright 
breastplates of the trumpeters gleamed like dancing 
fire before the lofty standard that swaj^ed with the 
glow pace of its bearer’s horse. Brighter and nearer 
came the colours, the blazing armour, the standard, the 
gorgeous procession of victorious men-at-arms; louder 
and louder blew the trumpets, higher and higher the 
clouds were lifted from the lowering sun. Half the 
people of Madrid went before, the rest flocked behind, 
all cheering or singing or shouting. The stream of 
colour and light became a river, the river a flood, and 
in the high tide of a young victor’s glory Don John of 
Austria rode onward to the palace gate. The mounted 
trumpeters parted to each side before him, and the 
standard-bearer ranged his horse to the left, opposite 
the banner of the King, which held the right, and Don 
John, on a grey Arab mare, stood out alone at the head 
of his men, saluting his royal brother with lowered 
sword and bent head. A final blast from the trumpets 
sounded full and high, and again and again the shout 
of the great throng went up like thunder and echoed 
from the palace walls, as King Philip, in his balcony 
above the gate, returned the salute with his hand, and 
bent a little forward over the stone railing. 

Dolores de Mendoza forgot her father and all that he 
•jsiiight say* and stood at the open window, looking down* 


16 m THE PAMCE OF THE BINS 

She had dreamed of this moment; she had seen vision 
of it in the daytime ; she had told herself again and 
again what it would be, how it must be 5 but th© 
reality was beyond her dreams and her visions and her 
imaginings, for she had to the full what few women 
have in any century, and what few have ever had m 
the blush of maidenhood, — the sight of the man she 
loved, and who loved her with all his heart, coming 
home in triumph from a hard-fought war, himself the 
leader and the victor, himself in youth’s first spring, 
the young idol of a warlike nation, and the centre of 
military glory. 

When he had saluted the King he sat still a moment 
on his horse and looked upward, as if unconsciously 
drawn by the eyes that, of all others, welcomed, him at 
that moment ; and his own met them instantly and 
smiled, though his face betrayed nothing. But old 
Mendoza, motionless in his saddle, followed the look, 
and saw 5 and although he would have praised the 
young leader with the best of his friends, and would 
have fought under him and for him as well as the 
bravest, yet at that moment he would gladly have 
seen Don John of Austria fall dead from his horse 
before his eyes, 

Don John dismounted without haste, and advanced 
to the gate as the King disappeared from the balcony 
above. He was of very graceful figure and bearing, 
not short, but looking taller than he really was by 
the perfection of his proportions. The short reddish 
brown hair grew dose and curling on his small head. 


* &OVE STORY OF OLD MADRID It 

sat left the forehead high, while it set of theKeiear 
skin and the mobile features. A very small mous« 
tache shaded his lip without hiding the boyish mouth, 
&nd at that time he wore no beard. The lips, indeed, 
smiled often, and the expression of the mouth was 
rather careless and good-humoured than strong. The 
strength of the face was in the clean-cut jaw, while its 
real expression was in the deep-set, fiery blue eyes, that 
oould turn angry and fierce at one moment, and tender 
as a woman’s the next. 

He wore without exaggeration the military dress of 
Ms time,—-a beautifully chiselled corslet inlaid with 
gold, black velvet sleeves, loose breeches of velvet and 
silk, so short that they did not descend half way to the 
knees, while his legs were covered by tight hose and 
leather boots, made like gaiters to clasp from the knee 
to the ankle and heel. Over his shoulder hung a short 
embroidered cloak, and his head covering was a broad 
velvet cap, in which were fastened the black and yellow 
plumes of the House of Austria. 

As he came near to the gate, many friends moved 
forward to greet him, and he gave his hand to all, with 
% frank smile and words of greeting. But old Mendoza 
did not dismount nor move his horse a step nearer. 
Don John, looking round before be went in, saw the 
grim face, and waved his hand to Dolores 5 father; 
but the old man pretended that he saw nothing, and 
made no answering gesture. Some one in the crowd 
of courtiers laughed lightly. Old Mendoza's face never 
changed; but his knees must have pressed the saddle 

- G 


18 


m THE PALACE OF THE KING 


suddenly, for his black horse stiired uneasily, and tried 
to rear a little. Don John stopped short, and his eye? 
hardened and grew very light before the smile could 
fade from his lips, while he tried to find the face of the 
man whose laugh he had heard* But that was im¬ 
possible, and his look was grave and stern as he went 
m under the great gate, the multitude cheering after 
him. 

From her high window Dolores had seen and heard 
also, for she had followed every movement he made 
and every change of his expression, and had faithfully 
told her sister what she saw, until the laugh came, 
short and light, but cutting. And Inez heard that, too, 
for she was leaning far forward upon the broad stone 
sill to listen for the sound of Don John’s voice. She 
drew back with a springing movement, and a sort of 
cry of pain. 

46 Some one is laughing at me ! >? she cried* « Soma 
one is laughing because I am trying to see ! ” 

Instantly Dolores drew her sister to her, kissing 
her tenderly, and soothing her as one does a fright 
ened child* 

44 No, dear, no! It was not that—-1 saw what ft 
was. Nobody was looking at you, my darling. Do 
you know why some one laughed? It hurt me, too. 
He smiled and waved his hand to our father, who took 
no notice of him. The laugh was for that —~ and for 
me, because the man knew well enough that our father 
does not mean that we shall ever marry* Do you see, 
dear? It was not meant for you.” 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 


* Did he really look up at us when you said mV* 
Mked Inez, in a smothered voice. 

w Who ? The man who laughed ? ” 

“No. I mean—-” 

u Bon John? Yes. He looked up to us and smiled 
— as he often does at me —with his eyes only, while 
Ms face was quite grave. He is not changed at all, 
except that he looks more determined, and handsomer, 
and braver, and stronger than ever I He does each 
time I see him! ” 

But Inez was not listening. 

u That was worth living for — worth being blind 
lor,” she said suddenly, 44 to hear the people shout and 
cheer for him as he came along. You who can see 
it all do not understand what the sound means to me. 
For a moment — only for a moment — I saw light — I 
know I saw a bright light before my eyes. I am not 
dreaming. It made my heart beat, and it made my 
head dizzy. It must have been lights Do you think 
it could be, Dolores ? ” 

44 1 do not know, dear,” answered the other gently. 

But as the day faded and they sat together in the 
early dusk, Dolores looked long and thoughtfully at 
the blind face. Inez loved Don John, though she did 
not know it, and without knowing it she had told he? 
sister* 


CHAPTER II 


When Don John had disappeared within the palace 
$he people lingered a little while, hoping that some¬ 
thing might happen which would be w T orth seeing, and 
then, murmuring a little in perfectly unreasonable dis¬ 
appointment, they slowly dispersed. After that old 
Mendoza gave his orders to the officers of the guards, 
the men tramped away, one detachment after another, 
in a regular order; the cavalry that had ridden up with 
Don John wheeled at a signal from the trumpets, and 
began to ride slowly hack to the city, pressing hard 
upon the multitude, and before it was quite dark the 
square before the palace was deserted again. The sky 
had cleared, the pavement was dry again, and the full 
moon was rising. Two tall sentinels with halberds 
paced silently up and down in the shadow. 

Dolores and her sister were still sitting in the dark 
when the door opened, and a grey-haired servant in 
red and yellow entered the room, bearing two lighted 
wax candles in heavy bronze candlesticks, which he set 
upon the table. A moment later be was folic wed by 
old Mendoza, still in his breastplate, as he had dis¬ 
mounted, his great spurs jingling on his heavy boots, 
m& his long basket-hiited sword trailing on the marble 
pavement. He was bareheaded now, and his short hair, 


M LOVE STGIiY OF OLB MABRXB 21 

smooth and grizzled, covered bis energetic bead like 
a close-fitting skull cap of iron-grey velvet. He stood 
still before the table, his bony right hand resting upon 
it and holding both his long gloves. The candlelight 
shone upward into his dark face, and gleamed yellow 
in his angry eyes* 

Both the girls rose instinctively as their father en¬ 
tered i but they stood close together, their hands still 
linked as if to defend each other from a common enemy, 
though the hard man would have given his life for 
either of them at any moment since they had come into 
the world. They knew it, and trembled, 

w You have made me the laughing-stock of the 
courts he began slowly, and his voice shook with 
anger f * What have you to say in your defence ? ** 

He was speaking to Dolores, and she turned a little 
pale. There was something so cruelly hard in Ms 
tone and bearing that she drew back a little, not ex¬ 
actly in bodily fear, but as a brave man may draw 
back a step when another suddenly draws a weapon 
upon him. Instantly Inez moved forward, raising one 
white hand in protest, and turning her blind face to 
her father's gleaming eyes, 

“I am not speaking to you/* he said roughly, 44 but 
you/* be went on, addressing Dolores, and the heavy 
table shook under his hand* 44 What devil possessed 
you that you should shame me and yourself, standing 
at your window to smile at Don John, as if he were 
the Espadero at a bull fight and you the beauty of 
the ring — with all Madrid there to look on, from hk 


22 


IN THE PALACE OF THE KINO 


Majesty the King to the beggar in the road? Have 
you no modesty, no shame, no blood that can blush? 
And if not, have you not even so much woman’s sense 
as should tell you that you are ruining your name and 
mine before the whole world ? ” 

“ Father! For the sake of heaven do not say such 
words—-you must not! You shall not! ” 

Dolores’ face was quite white now, as she gently 
pushed Inez aside and faced the angry man. The 
table was between them. 

44 Have I said one word more than the very truth ?” 
asked Mendoza. 44 Does not the whole court know that 
you love Don John of Austria— ” 

44 Let the whole world know it! ” cried the girl 
bravely. 44 Am I ashamed to love the best and bravest 
man that breathes ? ” 

44 Let the whole world know that you are willing to 
be his toy, his plaything — ” 

44 His wife, sir ! ” Dolores’ voice was steady and 
clear as she interrupted her father. 44 His wife,” she 
repeated proudly; ^ and to-morrow, if you and the King 
will not hinder us. God made you my father, but 
neither God nor man has given you the right to insult 
me, and you shall not be unanswered, so long as I have 
strength and breath to speak. But for you, I should 
be Don John of Austria’s wife to-day —and then, then 
his ‘toy,’ his ‘plaything’'—yes, and his slave and his 
servant —what you will ! I love him, and I would 
work for him with my hands, as I would give my blood 
snd my life for his, if God would grant me that hap- 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 23 

piness and grace, since you will not let me be his 
wife ! ” 

“ His wife! ” exclaimed Mendoza, with a savage 
sneer. “ His wife — to be married to-day and cast off 
to-morrow by a turn of the pen and the twisting of a 
word that would prove your marriage void, in order 
that Don John may be made the husband of some royal 
widowed lady, like Queen Mary of the Scots ! His 
wife ! ” He laughed bitterly. 

“You have an exalted opinion of your King, my 
father, since you suppose that he would permit such 
deeds in Spain ! ” 

Dolores had drawn herself up to her full height as 
she spoke, and she remained motionless as she awaited 
the answer to w^hat she had said. It was long in 
coming, though Mendoza’s dark eyes met hers unflinch¬ 
ingly, and his lips moved more than once as if h© 
were about to speak. She had struck a blow that 
was hard to parry, and she knew it. Inez stood beside 
her, silent and breathing hard as she listened. 

“You think that I have nothing to say,” he began at 
last, and his tone had changed and was more calm. 
“You are right, perhaps. What should I say to you, 
since you have lost all sense of shame and all thought 
of respect or obedience ? Do you expect that I shall 
argue with you, and try to convince you that I am 
right, instead of forcing you to respect me and your¬ 
self ? Thank Heaven, I have never yet questioned my 
King's thoughts, nor his motives, nor his supreme right 
to do whatsoever may be for the honour- and glory of 


M IN THE PALACE OF THE EINH 

Spain. My life is his, and all I have is his, to do with 
it all as he pleases, by grace of his divine right. That 
is my creed and my law — and if I have failed to bring 
you up in the same belief, I have committed a great sin, 
and it will be counted against me hereafter, though I 
have done what I could, to the best of my knowledge.” 

Mendoza lifted his sheathed sword and laid his right 
hand upon the cross-bar of the basket hilt. 

“God—the King —Spain!” he said solemnly, as 
he pressed his lips to it once for each article of his 
faith. 

“ I do not wish to shake your belief,” said Dolores 
coldly. “ I daresay that is impossible 1 ” 

“ As impossible as it is to make me change my de¬ 
termination,” answered Mendoza, letting his long sword 
rest on the pavement again. 

“ And what may your determination be ? ” asked the 
girl, still facing him. 

Something in his face forewarned her of near evil and 
danger, as he looked at her long without answering. 
She moved a little, so as to stand directly in front of 
Inez. Taking an attitude that was almost defiant, she 
began to speak rapidly, holding her hands behind her 
and pressing herself back against her sister to attract 
the latter’s attention; and in her hand she held the 
letter she had written to Don John, folded into the 
smallest possible space, for she had kept it ready in 
the wrist of her tight sleeve, not knowing what might 
happen any moment to give her an opportunity of 
sending it.. 


M LOVE STORY OS' OLD MADRID 


25 


64 What have you determined ? ” slie asked again, 
md then went on without waiting for a reply. “In 
what way are you going to exhibit your power over 
me ? Do you mean to take me away from the court to 
live in Valladolid again ? Are you going to put me in 
the charge of some sour old woman who will never let 
me out of her sight from morning till morning ? ” She 
had found her sister’s hand behind hers and had thrust 
the letter into the fingers that closed quickly upon it. 
Then she laughed a little, almost gaily. 46 Do you 
think that a score of sour old duennas could teach me 
to forget the man 1 love, or could prevent me from 
sending him a message every day if I chose ? Do you 
think you could hinder Don John of Austria, who came 
back an hour ago f/*om his victory the idol of all Spain, 
the favourite of *he people*—brave, young, powerful, 
rich, popular, beloved far more than the King himself, 
from seeing me every day if he chose, so long as he 
were not away in war? And then— I will ask you 
something more — do you think that father, or mother, 
or king, or law, or country has power to will away the 
love of a woman who loves with all her heart and soul 
and strength ? Then answer me and tell me what you 
have determined to do with me, and I will tell you 
my determination, too, for I have one of my own, and 
shall abide by it, come what may, and whatsoever you 
may do! ” 

She paused, for she had heard Inez softly close the 
door as she went out. The letter at least was safe, and 
if it were humanlj possible, Inez would find a means 


IN THE PALACE OF THE KING 


of delivering it; for she had all that strange ingenuity 
of the blind in escaping observation which it seems 
impossible that they should possess, but of which every 
one who has been much with them is fully aware* 
Mendoza had seen Inez go out, and was glad that she 
was gone, for her blind face sometimes disturbed him 
when he wished to assert his authority. 

“Yes,” he said, “I will tell you what I mean to do, 
and it is the only thing left to me, for you have given 
me no choice. You are disobedient and unruly, you 
have lost what little respect you ever had — or showed 
— for me. But that is not all. Men have had unruly 
daughters before, and yet have married them well, and 
to men who in the end have ruled them. I do not 
speak of my affection for you both, since you have none 
for me. But now, you are going beyond disobedience 
and lawlessness, for you are ruining yourself and dis¬ 
gracing me, and I will neither permit the one nor 
suffer the other.” His voice rose harshly. “Do you 
understand me ? I intend to protect my name from 
you, and yours from the world, in the only way possi¬ 
ble. I intend to send you to Las Huelgas to-morrow 
morning. I am in earnest, and unless you consent to 
give up this folly and to marry as I wish, you shall stay 
there for the rest of your natural life. Do you under¬ 
stand ? And until to-morrow morning you shall stay 
within these doors. We shall see whether Don John 
of Austria will try to force my dwelling first and a 
convent of holy nuns afterwards. You will be safe 
from him, I give you my word of honour,—-the word 


A LOYE STOIiY OF OLD MADRID 


2? 


of a Spanish gentleman and of your father. You shall 
be safe forever. And if Don John tries to enter here 
to-night, I will kill him on the threshold. I swear 

that I will.” 

He ceased speaking, turned, and began to walk up 
and down the small room, his spurs and sword clank¬ 
ing heavily at every step. He had folded his arms, 
and his head was bent low. 

A look of horror and fear had slowly risen in 
Dolores’ face, for she knew her father, and that he 
kept his word at every risk. She knew also that the 
King held him in very high esteem, and was as firmly 
opposed to her marriage as Mendoza himself, and there¬ 
fore ready to help him to do what he wished. It had 
never occurred to her that she could be suddenly thrust 
out of sight in a religious institution, to be kept there at 
her father’s pleasure, even for her wdiole life. She was 
too young and too full of life to have thought of such 
a possibility. She had indeed heard that such things 
could be done, and had been done, but she had never 
known such a case, and had never realized that she was 
so completely at her father’s mercy. For the first time 
in her life she felt real fear, and as it fell upon her 
there came the sickening conviction that she could not 
resist it, that her spirit was broken all at once, that in 
a moment more she would throw herself at her father’s 
feet and implore mercy, making whatever promise he 
exacted, yet making it falsely, out of sheer terror, in 
an utter degradation and abasement of all moral 
strength, of which she had never even dreamed. She 


$8 IN THE PALACE OF THE KING 

grew giddy as she felt it coming upon her, and th@ 
lights of the two candles moved strangely. Already 
she saw herself on her knees, sobbing with fear, trying 
to take her father’s hand, begging forgiveness, denying 
her love, vowing submission and dutiful obedience in 
an agony of terror. For on the other side she saw 
the dark corridors and gloomy cells of Las Huelgas, 
the veiled and silent nuns, the abomination of despair 
that was before her till she should die and escape at 
]ast,—-the faint hope which would always prevent her 
from taking the veil herself, yet a hope fainter and 
fainter, crossed by the frightful uncertainty in which 
she should be kept by those who guarded her. They 
would not even tell her whether the man she loved 
were alive or dead, she could never know whether he 
had given up her love, himself in despair, or whether, 
then, as years went by, he would not lose the thread 
that took him back to the memory of her, and forget—■ 
and love again. 

But then her strong nature rose a,gain, and the vision 
of fear began to fade as her faith in his love denied 
the last thought with scorn. Many a time, when words 
could tell no more, and seemed exhausted just when 
trust was strongest, he had simply said, “ I love you, 
as you love me,” and somehow the little phrase meant 
all, and far more than the tender speeches that some¬ 
times formed themselves so gracefully, and yet naturally 
and simply, because they, too, came straight from the 
heart. So now, in her extreme need, the plain words 
came back to her in his voice, “ I love you, as you love 


JL LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 29 

jne/ ? with a sudden strength of faith in him that mad$ 
her live again, and made fear seem impossible. While 
her father slowly paced the floor in silence, she thought 
what she should do, and whether there could be any¬ 
thing which she would not do, if Don John of Austria 
were kept a prisoner from her; and she felt sure that 
she could overcome every obstacle and laugh at every 
danger, for the hope of getting to him. If she would, 
so would he, since he loved her as she loved him. But 
for all the world, he would not have her throw herself 
upon her father’s mercy and make false promises and 
sob out denials of her love, out of fear. Death would 
be better than that. 

“ Do as you will with me, since you have the power,” 
she said at last, quite calmly and steadily. 

Instantly the old man stopped in his walk, and 
turned towards her, almost as if he himself were afraid 
now. To her amazement she saw that his dark eyes 
were moist with tears that clung but half shed to the 
rugged lids and rough, lashes. He did not speak for 
some moments, while she gazed at him in wonder, for 
she could not understand. Then all at once he lifted 
his brown hands and covered his face with a gesture 
of utter despair, 

“ Dolores ! My child, my little girl 1 ” he cried, in a 
broken voice. 

Then he sat down, as if overcome, clasped his hands 
on the hilt of his sword, and rested his forehead against 
them, rocking himself with a barely perceptible motion. 
In twenty years, Dolores had never understood, nos 


m THE PALACE OP THE KING 


area guessed, that the hard man, ever preaching of 
wholesome duty and strict obedience, always rebuking* 
never satisfied, ill pleased almost always, loved her with 
all his heart, and looked upon her as the very jewel of 
his soul. She guessed it now, in a sudden burst of 
understanding; but it was so new, so strange, that she 
could not have told what she felt. There was at best 
no triumph at the thought that, of the two, he had bro¬ 
ken down first in the contest. Pity came first, womanly* 
simple and kind, for the harsh nature that was so wounded 
at last. She came to his side, and laid one hand upon 
his shoulder, speaking softly. 

“ I am very, very sorry that I have hurt you,” she 
said, and waited for him to speak, pressing his shoulder 
with a gentle touch. 

He did not look up, and still he rocked himself gently* 
leaning on his sword. The girl suffered, too, to see 
him suffering so. A little while ago he had been hard, 
fierce, angry, cruel, threatening her with a living death 
that had filled her with horror. It had seemed quite 
impossible that there could be the least tenderness in 
him for any one — least of all for her. 

44 God be merciful to me,” he said at length in very 
low tones. 44 God forgive me if it is my fault—- 
you do not love me — I am nothing to you but an 
unkind old man, and you are all the world to me, 
child ! ” 

He raised his head slowly and looked into her face, 
$he was startled at the change in his own, as well as 
deeply touched by what he said. His dark cheeks had. 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 


81 


grown grey, and the tears that would not quite fall 
were like a glistening mist under the lids, and almost 
made him look sightless. Indeed, he scarcely saw 
her distinctly. His clasped hands trembled a little on 
the hilt of the sword he still held. 

“ How could I know? ” cried Dolores, suddenly kneel* 
ing down beside him. “How could I guess? You 
never let me see that you were fond of me -— or I have 
been blind all these years —■ ” 

“ Hush, child ! ” he said. “ Do not hurt me any 
more —it must have been my fault.” 

He grew more calm, and though his face was very 
grave and sad, the natural dark colour was slowly com¬ 
ing back to it now, and his hands were steady again. 
The girl was too young, and far too different from him, 
to understand his nature, but she was fast realizing that 
he was not the man he had always seemed to her. 

“ Oh, if I had only known ! ” she cried, in deep dis¬ 
tress. “ If I had only guessed, I would have been so 
different! I was always frightened, always afraid of 
you, since I can remember — I thought you did not 
care for us and that we always displeased you — how 
could we know ? ” 

Mendoza lifted one of his hands from the sword hilt, 
and took hers, with as much gentleness as was possible 
to him. His eyes became clear again, and the profound 
emotion he had shown subsided to the depths whence 
it had risen. 

“We shall never quite understand each other,” he 
said quietly. “You cannot see that it is a man’s duty 


si IDS’ TOT FALACF OF TOF &XST® 

to do what is right for his children, rather than to sac* 
rifice that in order to make them love him.” 

It seemed to Dolores that there might be a way open 
between the two, but she said nothing, and left her hand 
in his, glad that he was kind, but feeling, as he felt, that 
there could never be any real understanding between 
them. The breach had existed too long, and it was far 
too wide. 

a You are headstrong, my dear,” he said, nodding at 
Bach word. ^ You are very headstrong, if you will 
only reflect.” 

64 It is not my head, it is my heart,” answered Dolores, 
44 And besides,” she added with a smile, 44 1 am your 
daughter, and you are not of a very gentle and yielding 
disposition, are you ? ” 

44 No,” he answered with hesitation, 44 perhaps not.” 
Then his face relaxed a little, and he almost smiled 
too. 

It seemed as if the peace were made and as if thereafter 
there need not be trouble again. But it was even then 
not far off, for it was as impossible for Mendoza to yield 
as it would have been for Dolores to give up her love 
for Don John. She did not see this, and she fancied 
that a real change had taken place in his disposition, so 
that he would forget that he had threatened to send her 
to Las Huelgas, and not think of it again. 

44 What is done cannot be undone,” he said, with re¬ 
newed sadness. 44 You will never quite believe that 
you have been everything to me during your life. IIo^7 
could you not be, my child ? I am very lonely. Yom 


A LOVE. STORY OP OLD MADRID 


©other has been dead nearly eighteen years, and Rod- 
rigo — ” 

He stopped short suddenly, for he had never spoken 
his son’s name in the girl’s hearing since Rodrigo had 
left him to follow his own fortunes. 

« I think Rodrigo broke my heart,” said the old man, 
after a short pause, controlling his voice so that it 
sounded dry and indifferent. “And if there is any¬ 
thing left of it, you will break the rest.” 

He rose, taking his hand from hers, and turning 
a wav, with the roughness of a strong, hard man, who 
has broken down once under great emotion and is capa¬ 
ble of any harshness in his fear of yielding to it again. 
Dolores started slightly and drew back. In her the 
kindly impression was still strong, but his tone and 
manner wounded her. 

“ You are wrong,” she said earnestly. “ Since you 
have shown me that you love me, I will indeed do my 
best not to hurt you or displease you. I will do what 
1 can— what I can.” 

She repeated the last words slowly and with uncon¬ 
scious emphasis. He turned his face to her again 
instantly. 

“ Then promise me that you will never see Don John 
of Austria again, that you will forget that you ever 
loved him, that you will put him altogether out of your 
thoughts, and that you will obediently accept the mar¬ 
riage I shall make for you.” 

The words of refusal to any such obedience as that 
rose to the girl’s lips, ready and sharp. But she would 


m THE PALACE OF THE KING 


not speak them this time, lest more angry words shotted 
answer hers. She looked straight at her father’s eyes, 
holding her head proudly high for a moment. Then, 
smiling at the impossibility of what he asked, she turned 
from him and went to the window in silence. She 
opened it wide, leaned upon the stone sill and looked 
out. The moon had risen much higher now, and the 
court was white. 

She had meant to cut short the discussion without 
rousing anger again, but she could have taken no worse 
way to destroy whatever was left of her father’s kindlier 
mood. He did not raise his voice now, as he followed 
her and spoke. 

“You refuse to do that?” he said, with an already 
ominous interrogation in his tone. 

“ You ask the impossible,” she answered, without 
looking round. “ I have not refused, for I have no will 
in this, no choice. You can do what you please with 
me, for you have power over my outward life •— and if 
you lacked it, the King would help you. But you have 
no power beyond that, neither over my heart nor over 
my soul. I love him—I have loved him long, and I 
shall love him till I die, and beyond that, forever and 
ever, beyond everything — beyond the great to-morrow 
of God’s last judgment! How can I put him out of 
my thoughts, then ? It is madness to ask it of me.” 

She paused a moment, while he stood behind her, 
getting his teeth and slowly grinding the heel of one 
keavy boot on the pavement. 

“ And as for threatening me,” she continued, “ yon 


A LOTS STORY OF OLD MADRID 


35 


will not kill Don John, nor even try to kill him, for he 
is the King’s brother. If I can see him this evening, I 
will —and there will be no risk for him. You would 
not murder him by stealth, I suppose? No ! Then you 
will not attack him at all, and if I can see him, I will 
— I tell you so, frankly. To-morrow or the next day, 
when the festivities they have for him are over, and 
you yourself are at liberty, take me to Las Huelgas, if 
you will, and with as little scandal as possible. But 
when I am there, set a strong guard of armed men to 
keep me, for I shall escape unless you do. And I shall 
go to Don John. That is all I have to say. That is 
my last word.” 

«I gave you mine, and it was my word of honour,” 
said Mendoza. “If Don John tries to enter here, to 
see you, I will kill him. To-morrow, you shall go to 
Las Huelgas.” 

Dolores made no answer and did not even turn her 
head. He left her and went out. She heard his 
heavy tread in the hall beyond, and she heard a bolt 
slipped at the further door. She was imprisoned for 
the night, for the entrance her father had fastened was 
the one which cut off the portion of the apartment in 
which the sisters lived from the smaller part which he 
had reserved for himself. These rooms, from which 
there was no other exit, opened, like the sitting-room, 
upon the same hall. 

When Dolores knew that she was alone, she drew 
back from the window and shut it. It had served its 
purpose as a sort of refuge from her father, and tu© 


nr the palace oe the king 


night air was cold. She sat down to think, and being 
in a somewhat desperate mood, she smiled at the 
idea of being locked into her room, supperless, like a 
naughty child. But her face grew grave instantly 
as she tried to discover some means of escape. Inez 
was certainly not in the apartment— she must have 
gone to the other end of the palace, on pretence of see¬ 
ing one of the court ladies, but really in the hope of 
giving Don John the letter. It was more than prob¬ 
able that she would not be allowed to enter when she 
came back, for Mendoza would distrust her. That 
meant that Dolores could have no communication with 
any one outside her rooms during the evening and 
night, and she knew her father too well to doubt that 
he would send her to Las Huelgas in the morning, as 
he had sworn to do. Possibly he would let her serv¬ 
ing-woman come to her to prepare what she needed for* 
the journey, but even that was unlikely, for he would 
suspect everybody. 

The situation looked hopeless, and the girl’s face 
grew slowly pale as she realized that after all she 
might not even exchange a word with Don John before 
going to the convent—she might not even be able to 
tell him whither they were sending her, and Mendoza 
might keep the secret for years — and she would never 
be allowed to write, of course. 

She heard the further door opened again, the bolt 
running back with a sharp noise. Then she heard her 
father’s footsteps and his voice calling to Inez, as he 
went from room to room. But there was no answer* 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID ST 

and presently he went aw~ay, bolting the door a second 
time. There could be no more doubt about it now. 
Dolores was quite alone. Her heart beat heavily and 
slowly* But it was not over yet. Again the bolt 
slipped in the outer hall, and again she heard the 
heavy steps. They came straight towards the door. 
He had perhaps changed his mind, or he had something 
more to say ; she held her breath, but he did not come 
in. As if to make doubly sure, he bolted her into the 
little room, crossed the hall a last time, and bolted it 
for the night, perfectly certain that Dolores was safely 
shut off from the outer world. 

For some minutes she sat quite still, profoundly 
disturbed, and utterly unable find any way out of 
her difficulty, which was, indeed, that she was in a 
very secure prison. 

Then again there was a sound at the door, but very 
soft this time, not half as loud in her ears as the beat¬ 
ing of her own heart. There was something ghostly 
in it, for she had heard no footsteps. The bolt moved 
very slowly and gently — she had to strain her ears to 
hear it move. The sound ceased, and another fol¬ 
lowed it —that of the door being cautiously opened. 
A moment later Inez was in the room — turning her 
head anxiously from side to side to hear Dolores’ 
breathing, and so to find out where she was. Then as 
Dolores rose, the blind girl put her finger to her lips, 
and felt for her sister’s hand. 

64 Ha has the letter,*’ she whispered quickly. “I 
found him by accident, very quickly* I am td say to 


£ET THE PALACE OF THE KING 


you that after lie has been some time in the great hall; 
he will slip away and come here. You see our father 
will be on duty and cannot come up.” 

Dolores’ hand trembled violently. 

« He swore to me that he would kill Don John if he 
came here,” she whispered. M He will do it, if it costs 
his own life! You must find him again — go quickly, 
dear, for the love of Heaven! ” Her anxiety increased. 
« Go ■— go, darling — do not lose a moment — he may- 
come sooner —* save him, save him! ” 

“ I cannot go,” answered Inez, in terror, as she un¬ 
derstood the situation. “I had hidden myself, and 
I am locked in with you. He called me, but I kept 
quiet, for 1 knew he would not let me stay.” She 
buried her face in her hands and sobbed aloud in an 
agony of fear. 

Dolores’ lips were white, and she steadied herself 
against a chair. 


CHAPTER III 


Dolores stood leaning against the back of the 
diair, neither hearing nor seeing her sister, conscious 
only that Don John was in danger and that she could 
not warn him to be on his guard. She had not be- 
lieved herself when she had told her father that he 
would not dare to lift his hand against the King’s 
half brother. She had said the words to give herself 
courage, and perhaps in a rush of certainty that the 
man she loved was a match for other men, hand to 
hand, and something more. It was different now. 
Little as she yet knew of human nature, she guessed 
without reasoning that a man who has been angry, who 
has wavered and given way to what he believes to be 
weakness, and whose anger has then burst out again, is 
much more dangerous than before, because his wrath 
is no longer roused against another only, but also 
against himself. More follies and crimes have been 
committed in that second tide of passion than under 
a first impulse. Even if Mendoza had not fully meant 
what he had said the first time, he had meant it all, 
and more, when he had last spoken. Once more the 
vision of fear rose before Dolores’ eye3, nobler now, 
because it was fear for another and not for herself, bat 
therefore also harder to conquer. 


40 ' 


m THE PALACE OF THE KING 


Inez had ceased from sobbing now, and was sitting 
quietly in her accustomed seat, in that attitude of con¬ 
centrated expectancy of sounds which is so natural to 
the blind, that one can almost recognize blindness by 
the position of the head and body without seeing the 
face. The blind rarely lean back in a chairs more 
often the body is quite upright, or bent a little for* 
ward, the face is slightly turned up when there is total 
silence, often turned down when a sound is already 
heard distinctly? the knees are hardly ever crossed, 
the hands are seldom folded together, but are generally 
spread out, as if ready to help the hearing by the sense 
of touch — the lips are slightly parted, for the blind 
know that they hear by the mouth as well as with their 
ears — the expression of the face is one of expectation 
and extreme attention, still, not placid, calm, but the 
very contrary of indifferent. It was thus that Inez 
sat, as she often sat for hours, listening, always and 
forever listening to the speech of things and of nature, 
as well as for human words. And in listening, she 
thought and reasoned patiently and continually, s© 
that the slightest sounds had often long and accurate 
meanings for her. The deaf reason little or ill, and 
are very suspicious; the blind, on the contrary, are 
keen, thoughtful, and ingenious, and are distrustful of 
themselves rather than of others. Inez sat quite still* 
listening, thinking, and planning a means of helping 
her sister. 

But Dolores stood motionless as if she were para¬ 
lyzed, watching the picture that she could not chase 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 


41 


stray. For she saw the familiar figure of the man 
she loved coming down the gloomy corridor, alone and 
unarmed, past the deep embrasures through which the 
moonlight streamed, straight towards the oak door at 
the end; and then, from one of the windows another 
figure stood out, sword in hand, a gaunt man with a 
grey beard, and there were few words, and an uncertain 
quick confounding of shadows with a ray of cold light 
darting hither and thither, then a fall, and then still¬ 
ness. As soon as it was over, it began again, with 
little change, save that it grew more distinct, till sh8 
could see Don John’s white face in the moonlight as ha 
lay dead on the pavement of the corridor. 

It became intolerable at last, and she slowly raised 
one hand and covered her eyes to shut out the sight. 

“ Listen,” said Inez, as Dolores stirred. *1 have 
been thinking. You must see him to-night, even if 
you are not alone with him. There is only one way to 
do that; you must dress yourself for the court and go 
down to the great hall with the others and speak to 
ki m _then you can decide how to meet to-morrow.” 

“Inez— I have not told you the rest! To-morrow 
I am to be sent to Las Huelgas, and kept there like a 
prisoner.” Inez uttered a low cry of pain. 

« To a convent ! ” It seemed like death. 

Dolores began to tell her all Mendoza had said, hut 
Inez soon interrupted her. There was a dark flush in 
the blind girl’s face. 

“And he would have you believe that he loves 
yon! ” she cried indignantly. M He has alrrays bee® 


42 


IN THE PALACE OF THE KING 


hard, and cruel, and unkind, he has never forgiven me 
for being blind-—he will never forgive you for being 
young! The King ! The King before everything and 
every one — before himself, yes, that is well, but before 
his children, his soul, his heart — he has no heart! 
What am I saying — 59 She stopped short. 

“And yet, in his strange way, he loves us both, 9 ’ 
said Dolores. 66 1 cannot understand it, but I saw his 
face when there were tears in his eyes, and I heard his 
voice. He would give his life for us.” 

“And our lives, and hearts, and hopes to feed his 
conscience and to save his own soul! ” 

Inez was trembling with anger, leaning far forward, 
her face flushed, one slight hand clenched, the other 
clenching it hard. Dolores was silent. It was not the 
first time that Inez had spoken in this way, for the 
blind girl could be suddenly and violently angry for a 
good cause. But now her tone changed. 

“ I will save you,” she said suddenly, “ but there is 
no time to be lost. He will not come back to our 
rooms now, and he knows well enough that Don John 
cannot come here at this hour, so that he is not waiting 
for him. We have this part of the place to ourselves, 
and the outer door only is bolted now. It will take 
you an hour to dress — say three-quarters of an hour. 
As soon as you get out, you must go quickly round the 
palace to the Duchess Alvarez. Our father will not 
go there, and you can go down with her, as usual — but 
tell her nothing. Our father will be there, and he 
will see you, but he will not care to make an open 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 


4$ 


scandal in tlie court. Don John will come and spea,k 
to you; you must stay beside the Duchess of course 
—-but you can manage to exchange a few words.” 

Dolores listened intently, and her face brightened a 
little as Inez went on, only to grow sad and hopeless 
again a moment' later. It was all an impossible 
dream. 

u That would be possible if I could once get beyond 
the door of the hall,” she said despondently. “It is of 
no use, dear! The door is bolted.” 

“ They will open it for me. Old Eudaldo is always 
within hearing, and he will do anything for me. Be¬ 
sides, I shall seem to have been shut in by mistake, do 
you see? I shall say that I am hungry, thirsty, that I 
am cold* that in locking you in our father locked me 
in, too, because I was asleep. Then Eudaldo will open 
the door for me. I shall say that I am going to the 
Duchess’s.” 

“ Yes —but then?” 

“ You will cover yourself entirely with my black 
cloak and draw it over your head and face. We are of 
the same height —you only need to walk as I do —as 
if you were blind — across the hall to the left. Eudaldo 
will open the outer door for you. You will just nod to 
thank him, without speaking, and when you are out¬ 
side, touch the wall of the corridor with your left hand, 
and keep close to it. I always do, for fear of running 
against some one. If you meet any of the women, they 
will take you for me. There is never much light in 
the corridor, is there ? There is one oil lamp half way 


44 


IN THE PALACE OF THE KINO 


down, I know, for I always smell it when I pass in tlie 
evening.” 

“Yes, it is almost dark there —it is a little lamp. 
Do you really think this is possible? ” 

“It is possible, not sure. If you hear footsteps in 
the corridor beyond the corner, you will have time to 
slip into one of the embrasures. But our father will 
not come now. He knows that Don John is in his own 
apartments with many people. And besides, it is to 
be a great festival to-night, and all the court people 
and officers, and the Archbishop, and all the rest who 
do not live in the palace will come from the city, so 
that our father will have to command the troops and 
give orders for the guards to march out, and a thou¬ 
sand things will take his time. Don John cannot pos¬ 
sibly come here till after the royal supper, and if our 
father can come away at all, it will be at the same time. 
That is the danger.” 

Dolores shivered and saw the vision in the corridor 
again. 

But if you are seen talking with Don John before 
supper, no one will suppose that in order to meet him 
you would risk coming back here, where you are sure 
to be caught and locked up again. Do you see ? ” 

“ It all depends upon whether I can get out,” an¬ 
swered Dolores, but there was more hope in her tone. 
“How am I to dress without a maid?” she asked 
suddenly. 

“ Trust me,” said Inez, with a laugh. “ My hands 
are better than a serving-woman’s eyes. You abalj 


A LOVE STOBY OF OLD MADBXD 46 

look as you never looked before* I know every lock 
of your hair, and just how it should be turned and 
curled and fastened in place so that it cannot possibly 
get loose* Como, we are wasting time. Take off your 
slippers as I have done, so that no one shall hear us 
walking through the hall to your room, and bring the 
candles with you if you choose —yes, you need them 
to pick out the colours you like.'* 

“ If you think it will be safer in the dark, it does 
not matter,” said Dolores, “I know where every¬ 
thing is,” 

“It would be safer,” answered Inez thoughtfully, 

“ It is just possible that he might be in the court and 
might see the light in your window, whereas if it burns 
here steadily, he will suspect nothing. We will bolt 
the door of this room, as I found it. If by any possi¬ 
bility he comes back, he will think you are still here, 
and will probably not come in.” 

“Pray Heaven he may not! ” exclaimed Dolores, and 
she began to go towards the door. 

Inez was there before her, opening it very cautiously. 

“ My hands are lighter than yours,” she whispered. 

They both passed out, and Inez slipped the bolt back 
into its place with infinite precaution* 

“ Is there light here ? ” she asked under her breath. 

“ There is a very small lamp on the table. I can 
just see my door.” 

“ Put it out as we pass,” whispered Inez. “ I will 
lead you if you cannot find your way.” 

They moved cautiously forward, and when they 


S& IK THE PALACE OF THE KING 

reached the table, Dolores bent down to the small wick 
and blew out the flame. Then she felt her sister’s 
hand taking hers and leading her quickly to the other 
door. The blind girl was absolutely noiseless in her 
movements, and Dolores had the strange impression 
that she was being led by a spirit through the dark¬ 
ness. Inez stopped a moment, and then went slowly 
on, they had entered the room though Dolores had not 
heard the door move, nor did she hear it closed behind 
her again. Her own room was perfectly dark, for the 
heavy curtain that covered the window was drawn; 
she made a step alone, and cautiously, and struck her 
knee against a chair. 

a Do not move," whispered Inez.. M You will make 
a noise, I can dress you where you stands or if you 
want to find anything, I will lead you to the place 
where it is. Remember that it is always day for me.” 

Dolores obeyed, and stood still, holding her breath a 
little in her intense excitement. It seemed impossible 
that Inez could do all she promised without making a 
mistake, and Dolores would not have been a woman 
had she not been visited just then l>v visions of ridi¬ 
cule. Without light she was utterly helpless to do 
anything for herself, and she had never before then 
fully realized the enormous -misfortune with which her 
sister had to contend. She had not guessed, either, 
what energy and quickness of thought Inez possessed, 
and the sensation of being advised, guided, and helped 
by one she had always herself helped and protected wm 
w 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 


47 


They spoke in quick whispers of what she was to 
wear and of how her hair was to be dressed, and Inez 
found what was wanted without noise, and almost as 
quickly as Dolores could have done in broad daylight* 
and placed a chair for her* making her sit down in it, 
and began to arrange her hair quickly and skilfully. 
Dolores felt the spiritlike hands touching her lightly 
and deftly in the dark—they were very slight and soft, 
and did not offend her with a rough movement or a 
wrong turn, as her maid's sometimes did. She felt her 
golden hair undone, and swiftly drawn out and smoothed 
without catching, or tangling, or hurting her at all, in 
a way no woman had ever combed it, and the invisible 
hands gently divided it, and turned it upon her head, 
slipping the hairpins into the right places as if by 
magic, so that they were firm at the first trial, and 
there was a faint sound of little pearls tapping each 
other, and Dolores felt the small string laid upon her 
hair and fastened in its place. — the only ornament a 
young girl could wear for a headdress, — and presently 
it was finished, and Inez gave a sigh of satisfaction at 
her work, and lightly felt her sister's head here and 
there to be sure that all was right. It felt as if softj 
little birds were Just touching the hair with the tips of 
their wings as they fluttered round it, Dolores had no, 
longer any fear of looking ill dressed in the blaze of 
light she was to face before long. The dressing of her 
hair was the most troublesome part? she knew, and 
though she could not have done it herself, she had fell 
that ©very touch md tarn had been perfectly skilful 


48 


IN THE PALACE OF THE KING 


“ What a wonderful creature you are! ” she whis¬ 
pered, as Inez bade her stand up. 

“You have beautiful hair,” answered the blind girl, 
“and you are beautiful in other ways, but to-night you 
must be the most beautiful of all the court, for his sake 
— so that every woman may envy you, and every man 
envy him, when they see you talking together. And 
now we must be quick, for it has taken a long time, 
and I hear the soldiers marching out again to form in 
the, square. That is always just an hour and a half 
before the King goes into the hall. Here — this is the 
front of the skirt.” 

“ No — it is the back ! ” 

Inez laughed softly, a whispering laugh that Dolores 
could scarcely hear. 

“It is the front,” she said. “You can trust me in 
the dark. Put your arms down, and let me slip it over 
your head so as not to touch your hair. No— hold 
your arms down ! ” 

Dolores had instinctively lifted her hands to pro¬ 
tect her headdress. Then all went quickly, the 
silence only broken by an occasional whispered word 
and by the rustle of silk, the long soft sound of the 
lacing as Inez drew it through the eyelets of the 
bodice, the light tapping of her hands upon the folds 
and gatherings of the skirt and on the puffed velvet 
on the shoulders and elbows. 

“You must be beautiful, perfectly beautiful to¬ 
night,” Inez repeated more than once. 

She herself did not understand why she said it, 


A LOYE STORY OF OLD MADRID 49 

unless it were that Dolores’ beauty was for Don 
John of Austria, and that nothing in the whole world 
could be too perfect for him, for the hero of her 
thoughts, the sun of her blindness, the immeasurably 
far-removed deity of her heart. She did not know 
that it was not for her sister’s sake, but for his, that 
she had planned the escape and was taking such 
infinite pains that Dolores might look her best. Yet 
she felt a deep and delicious delight in what she did, 
like nothing she had ever felt before, for it was the 
first time in her life that she had been able to do 
something that could give him pleasure ; and, behind 
that, there was the belief that he was in danger, that 
she could no longer go to him nor warn him now, 
and that only Dolores herself could hinder him from 
coming unexpectedly against old Mendoza, sword in 
hand, in the corridor. 

“And now my cloak over everything,” she said. 
“ Wait here, for I must get it, and do not move ! ” 

Dolores hardly knew whether Inez left the room or 
not, so noiselessly did the girl move. Then she felt the 
cloak laid upon her shoulders and drawn close round 
her to hide her dress, for skirts were short in those 
days and easily hidden. Inez laid a soft silk hand¬ 
kerchief upon her sister’s hair, lest it should be dis¬ 
arranged by the hood which she lightly drew over 
all, assuring herself that it would sufficiently hide 
the face. 

“Now come with me,” she whispered. “I will 
lead you to the door that is bolted and place you 


so 


IN THE PALACE OF THE KING 


just where it will open. Then I will call Eudaldo and 
speak to him, and beg him to let me out. If he 
does, bend your head and try to walk as I do. I 
shall be on one side of the door, and, as the room -is 
dark, he cannot possibly see me. While he is open¬ 
ing the outer door for you, I will slip back into my 
own room. Do you understand ? And remember to 
hide in an embrasure if you hear a man’s footsteps- 
Are you quite sure you understand ? ” 

“Yes; it will be easy if Eudaldo opens. And I 
thank you, dear; I wish I knew how to thank you 
as 1 ought! It may Lrr? saved his life — ” 

“And yours, too, perhaps,” answered Inez, begin¬ 
ning to lead her away. “ You would die in the con¬ 
vent, and you must not come back — you must never 
come back to us here—-never till you are married. 
Good-by, Dolores — dear sister. I have done nothing, 
and you have done everything for me all your life. 
Good-by ■— one kiss —then we must go, for it is late.” 

With her soft hands she drew Dolores’ head towards 
her, lifted the hood a little, and kissed her tenderly. 
All at once there were tears on both their faces, and 
the arms of each clasped the other almost desperately. 

“You must come to me, wherever I am,” Dolores 
said. 

“ Yes, I will come, wherever you are. I promise it.” 
Then she disengaged herself quickly, and more 
than ever she seemed a spirit as she went before, 
leading her sister by the hand. They reached the 
door, and she made Dolores stand before the right* 


A LOVE STORY OP OLD MADRID 


51 


ftand panel, ready to slip out, and once more she 
touched the hood to be sure it hid the face. She 
listened a moment. A harsh and regular sound came 
from a distance, resembling that made by a pitsaw 
steadily grinding its way lengthwise through a log 
of soft pine wood. 

“ Eudaldo is asleep,” said Inez, and even at this mo¬ 
ment she could hardly suppress a half-hysterical laugh. 
“I shall have to make a tremendous noise to wake 
him. The danger is that it may bring some one else, 
— the women, the rest of the servants.” 

“What shall we do?” asked Dolores-, a dis¬ 
tressed whisper. 

She had braced her nerves to act the part of her 
sister at the dangerous moment, and her excitement 
made every instant of waiting seem ten times its 
length. Inez did not answer the question at once. 
Dolores repeated it still more anxiously. 

«X was trying to make up my mind,” said the 
other at last. “You could pass Eudaldo well enough, 
I am sure, but it might be another matter if the 
hall were full of servants, as it is certain that our 
father has given a general order that you are not to 
be allowed to go out. We may wait an hour for the 
man to wake.” 

Dolores instinctively tried the door, but it was 
solidly fastened from the outside. She felt hot and 
cold by turns as her anxiety grew more intolerable. 
Each minute made it more possible that she migM 
meet her father somewhere outside, 


68 IN THE PALACE OF THE KING 

“ We must decide something! ” she whispered dee 
perately. “We cannot wait here,” 

“I do not know what to do,” answered Inez. “X 
have done all I can; X never dreamt that Eudaldo 
would be asleep. At least, it is a sure sign that our 
father is not in the house.” 

“But he may come at any moment! We must, 
we must do something at once! ” 

“I will knock softly,” said Inez. “Any one who 
hears it will suppose it is a knock at the hall door. 
If he does not open, some one will go and wake 
him up, and then go away again so as not to be 
seen.” 

She clenched her small hand, and knocked three 
times. Such a sound could make not the slightest im¬ 
pression upon Eudaldo’s sound sleep, but her reason¬ 
ing was good, as well as ingenious. After waiting 
a few moments, she knocked again, more loudly, 
Dolores held her breath in the silence that followed . 
Presently a door was opened, and a woman’s voice 
was heard, low but sharp. 

“ Eudaldo, Eudaldo ! Some one is knocking at the 
front door ! ” 

The woman probably shook the old man to rouse 
him, for his voice came next, growling and angry. 

“ Witch ! Hag ! Mother of malefactors 1 Let me 
alone—T am asleep. Are you trying to tear my 
sleeve off with your greasy claws? Nobody is knock¬ 
ing^ you probably hear the wine thumping in jom 
ears!” 


A 3X)VB STORY OF OLD MADRID fM 

The woman, who was the drudge and had been 
leaning the kitchen, was probably used to Eudaldo’s 
manner of expressing himself, for she only laughed, 

“Wine makes men sleep, but it does not knock at 
doors,” she answered. “ Some one has knocked twice. 
You had better go and open the door.” 

A shuffling sound and a deep yawn announced that 
Eudaido was getting out of his chair. The two girk 
heard him moving towards the outer entrance. Then 
they heard the woman go away, shutting the other 
door behind her, as soon as she was sure that Eudaido 
was really awake. Then Inez called him softly. 

“Eudaido! Here —it was I that knocked—you 
must let me out, please -— come nearer.” 

“ Dona Inez ? ” asked the old man, standing still. 

“ Hush I ” answered the girl. “Come nearer, " She 
waited, listening while he approached, “Listen to 
me,” she continued. “ The General has locked me in, 
by mistake. He did not know I was here when he 
bolted the door. And I am hungry and thirsty and 
very cold, Eudaido — and you must let me out, and 
I will run to the Duchess Alvarez and stay with her 
little girl. Indeed, Eudaido, the General did not 
mean to lock me in, too.” 

“ He said nothing about your ladyship to me,” an¬ 
swered the servant doubtfully. “ Hut I do not 
know — ” he hesitated. 

“ Please, please, Eudaido,” pleaded Inez, “ I am 
sold and lonely here — ” 

« But Doha Dolores is there, too,” observed Eudj^ie, 


M IN THE PALACE OF THE KIN© 

Dolores held her breath and steadied herself against 
the panel* 

“He shut her into the inner sitting-room.* Kow 
could I dare to open the door ! You may go in and 
knock —she will not answer you/* 

44 Is your ladyship sure that Do&a Dolores is within ? ” 
asked Eudaldo, in a more yielding tone. 

44 Absolutely* perfectly sure ! ” answered Xnas, with 
perfect truth, u Oh, do please let me out/* 

Slowly the old man drew the bolt, while Dolores* 
heart stood still, and she prepared herself for the dan¬ 
ger \ for she knew well enough that the faithful old 
servant feared his master much more than he feared 
the devil and all evil spirits, and would prevent her 
from passing, even with force* if he recognized her. 

44 Thank you, Eudaido —* thank you I *' cried Ine% 
■as the latch turned. 44 And open the front door for 
me s please/" she said, putting he? lips fust where the 
panel was opening. 

Then she drew back into- the darkness. The door 
was wide open now, and Eudaldo was already shuffling 
towards the entrance. Dolores went forward, bending 
her head, and trying to affect her sister’s step. No 
distance had ever seemed so long to her as that which 
separated her from the hall door which Eudaldo was 
already opening for her. But she dared not hasten 
her step, for though Inez moved with perfect certainty 
in the house, she always walked with a certain de¬ 
liberate -caution, and often stopped to listen, while 
©crossing & room. The blind girl wm listening mm, 


A LQVB 8TOEY OF OLD MADBID &5 

with all her marvellous hearing, to be sure that all 
went well till Dolores should be outside. She knew 
exactly how many steps there were from where she 
stood to the entrance, for she had often counted them. 

Dolores must have been not more than three yards 
from the door, when Inez started involuntarily, for 
she heard a sound from without, far off—* so far that 
Dolores could not possibly have heard it yet, but un» 
mistakable to the blind girl’s keener ear. She listened 
intently — there were Dolores’ last four steps to the 
open doorway, and there were others from beyond, still 
very far away in the vaulted corridors, but coming 
nearer. To call her sister back would have made all 
further attempt at escape hopeless—to let her go on 
seemed almost equally fatal— Inez could have shrieked 
aloud. But Dolores had already gone out, and a mo¬ 
ment later the heavy door swung back to its place, and it 
was too late to call her. Like an immaterial spirit, Ines 
slipped away from the place where she stood and went 
back to Dolores’ room, knowing that Eudaldo would 
very probably go and knock where he supposed her 
sister to be a prisoner, before slipping the outer bolt 
again. And so he did, muttering an imprecation upon 
the little lamp that had gone out and left the small 
hall in darkness. Then he knocked, and spoke through 
the door, offering to bring her food, or fire, and repeat¬ 
ing Ms words many times, in a supplicating tone, for 
he was devoted to both the sisters, though terror of old 
Mendoza was the dominating element in his existence. 

At last ha shook his head and turned despondently 


56 


IN THE PALACE OF THE KING 


to light the little lamp again; and when he had done 
that, he went away and bolted the door after him, con¬ 
vinced that Inez had gone out and that Dolores had 
stayed behind in the last room. 

When she had heard him go away the last time, the 
blind girl threw herself upon Dolores’ bed, and buried 
her face in the down cushion, sobbing bitterly in her 
utter loneliness; weeping, too, for something she did 
not understand, but which she felt the more painfully 
because she could not understand it, something that 
was at once like a burning fire and an unspeakable 
emptiness craving to be filled, something that longed 
and feared, and feared longing, something that was a 
strong bodily pain but which she somehow knew might 
have been the source of all earthly delight, — an ele¬ 
ment detached from thought and yet holding it, above 
the body and yet binding it, touching the soul and 
growing upon it, but filling the soul itself with fear 
and unquietness, and making her heart cry out within 
her as if it were not hers and were pleading to be free. 
So, as she could not understand that this was love, 
which, as she had heard said, made women and men 
most happy, like gods and goddesses, above their kind, 
she lay alone in the darkness that was always as day 
to her, and wept her heart out in scalding tears. 

In the corridor outside, Dolores made a few steps, 
remembering to put out her left hand to touch the 
wall, as Inez had told her to do; and then she heard 
what had reached her sister’s ears much sooner. She 
stood still an instant, strained her eyes to see in the 


A LOVE STORY OE OLD MADRID 


57 


dim light of the single lamp, saw nothing, and heard 
the sound coming nearer. Then she quickly crossed 
the corridor to the nearest embrasure to hide herself. 
To her horror she realized that the light of the full 
moon was streaming in as bright as day, and that she 
could not be hid. Inez knew nothing of moonlight. 

She pressed herself to the wall, on the side away 
from her own door, making herself as small as she 
could, for it was possible that whoever came by might 
pass without turning his head. Nervous and exhausted 
by all she had felt and been made to feel since the 
afternoon, she held her breath and waited. 

The regular tread of a man booted and spurred came 
relentlessly towards her, without haste and without 
pause. No one who wore spurs but her father ever 
came that way. She listened breathlessly to the hollow 
echoes, and turned her eyes along the wall of the em¬ 
brasure. In a moment she must see his gaunt figure, 
and the moonlight would be white on his short grey 
beard. 


~1 


CHAPTER IV 

Dolores knew that there was no time to reflect as 
to what she should do, if her father found her hiding 
in the embrasure, and yet in those short seconds a 
hundred possibilities flashed through her disturbed 
thoughts. She might slip past him and run for her 
life down the corridor, or she might draw her hood over 
her face and try to pretend that she was some one else, 
— but he would recognize the hood itself as belonging 
to Inez, — or she might turn and lean upon the window¬ 
sill, indifferently, as if she had a right to be there, and 
he might take her for some lady of the court, and pass 
on. And yet she could not decide which to attempt, 
and stood still, pressing herself against the wall of the 
embrasure, and quite forgetful of the fact that the 
bright moonlight fell unhindered through all the other 
windows upon the pavement, whereas she cast a shadow 
from the one in which she was standing, and that any 
one coming along the corridor would notice it and stop 
to see who was there. 

There was something fateful and paralyzing in the 
regular footfall that was followed instantly by the 
short echo from the vault above. It was close at hand 
jaow $ she was sure that at the very next instant she 
should see her fathers face, yet nothing came, except. 


A LOV3S STQBY OF OLD MADBIB 


the sound, for that deceived her in the silence and 
seemed far nearer than it was* She had heard horrible 
ghost stories of the old Alcazar, and as a child she had 
been frightened by tales of evil things that haunted 
the corridors at night, of wraiths and goblins and 
Moorish wizards who dwelt in secret vaults, where no 
one knew, and came out in the dark, when all was 
still, to wander in the moonlight, a terror to the living. 
The girl felt the thrill of unearthly fear at the rooty 
of her hair, and trembled, and the sound seemed to b© 
magnified till it reechoed like thunder, though it was 
only the noise of an advancing footfall, with a little 
Jingling of spurs* 

But at last there was no doubt* It was close to her, 
and she shut her eyes involuntarily. She heard on© 
step more on the stones, and then there was silence. 
She knew that her father had seen her, had stopped 
before her, and was looking at her. She knew how 
his rough brows were knitting themselves together, 
and that even in the pale moonlight his eyes were 
fierce and angry, and that his left hand was resting on 
the hilt of his sword, the bony brown fingers tapping 
the basket nervously. An hour earlier, or little more, 
she had faced him as bravely as any man, but she could 
not face him now, and she dared not open her eyes. 

“Madam, are you ill, or in trouble?” asked a young 
Toice that was soft and deep. 

She opened her eyes with a sharp cry that was not 
of fear, and she threw back her hood with one hand m 
the looked 


nr TUB PALAOB OF THU KIN@ 


Don John of Austria was there, a step from her, tha 
light full on his face, bareheaded, his cap in his hand, 
bending a little towards her, as one does towards a 
person one does not know, but who seems to be in 
distress and to need help. Against the whiteness 
without he could not see her face, nor could he recog¬ 
nize her muffled figure. 

“ Can I not help you. Madam?” asked the kind voice 
again, very gravely. 

Then she put out her hands towards him and made 
a step, and as the hood fell quite back with the silk 
kerchief, he saw her golden hair in the silver light. 
Slowly and in wonder, and still not quite believing, he 
moved to meet her movement, took her hands in his, 
drew her to him, turned her face gently, till he saw it 
well. Then he, too, uttered a little sound that was 
neither a word nor a syllable nor a cry —- a sound that 
was half fierce with strong delight as his lips met hers, 
and his hands were suddenly at her waist lifting her 
slowly to his own height, though he did not know it, 
pressing her closer and closer to him, as if that one 
kiss were the first and last that ever man gave woman, 

A minute passed, and yet neither he nor she could 
speak. She stood with her hands clasped round his 
neck, and her head resting on his breast just below the 
shoulder, as if she were saying tender words to the 
heart she heard beating so loud through the soft black 
velvet. She knew that it had never beaten in battle 
as it was beating now, and she loved it because it knew 
her and welcomed hers but her own stood still, and 


A LOVHt STORY OF OLB MADBHD © 

saow and then it fluttered wildly, like a strong young 
bird in a barred cage, and then was quite still again* 
Bending his face a little, he softly kissed her hair again 
and again, till at last the kisses formed themselves into 
syllables and words, which she felt rather than heard. 

44 God in heaven, how I love you—heart of my heart 
— life of my life — love of my soul ! 99 

And again he repeated the same words, and many 
more like them, with little change, because at that mo¬ 
ment he had neither thought nor care for anything else 
in the world, not for life nor death nor kingdom nor 
glory, in comparison with the woman he loved. He 
could not hear her answers, for she spoke without words 
to his heart, hiding her face where she heard it throb¬ 
bing, while her lips pressed many kisses on the velvet. 

Then, as thought returned, and the first thought 
was for him, she drew back a little with a quick 
movement, and looked up to him with frightened and 
imploring eyes. 

“ We must go! s? she cried anxiously, in a very low 
voice. “We. cannot stay here. My father is very 
angry — he swore on his word of honour that ha 
would kill you. if you tried to see me to-night! 

Don John laughed gently, and his eyes brightened. 
Before she could speak again, he held her close once 
more, and his kisses were on her cheeks and her eyes, 
on her forehead and on her hair, and then again upon 
her lips, till they would have hurt her if she had not 
loved them so, and given back every on©® Then sb® 
struggled again, and he loosed his hold® 


62 


IN THE PALACE OP THE KING 


44 It is death to stay here,” she said very earnestly. 

44 It is worse than death to leave you,” he answered, 
44 And I will not,” he added an instant later, 44 neither 
for the King, nor for your father, nor for any royal 
marriage they may try to force upon me.” 

She looked into his eyes for a moment, before she 
spoke, and there was deep and true trust in her own. 

44 Then you must save me,” she said quietly. 44 He 
has vowed that I shall be sent to the convent of 
Las Huelgas to-morrow morning. He locked me into 
the inner room, but Inez helped me to dress, and I got 
out under her cloak.” 

She told him in a few words what she had done and 
had meant to do, in order to see him, and how she had 
taken his step for her father’s. He listened gravely, 
and she saw his face harden slowly in an expression she 
had scarcely ever seen there. When she had finished 
her story he was silent for a moment. 

44 We are quite safe here,” he said at last, “safer 
than anywhere else, I think, for your father cannot 
come back until the King goes to supper. For myself, 
I have an hour, but I have been so surrounded and 
pestered by visitors in my apartments that I have not 
found time to put on a court dress —and without 
vanity, I presume that I am a necessary figure at court 
this evening. Your father is with Perez, who seems to 
be acting as master of ceremonies and of everything 
else, as well as the King’s secretary — they have busi* 
ness together, and the General will not have a moment. 
I ascertained that, before coming here, or I should not 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 


have come at this hour. We are safe from him here, I 
am sure.” 

44 You know best,” answered Dolores, who was greatly 
reassured by what he said about Mendoza. 

«Let us sit down, then. You must be tired after 
all you have done. And we have much to say to each 
other.” 

44 How could I be tired now? ” she asked, with a lov¬ 
ing smile; but she sat down on the stone seat in the 
embrasure, close to the window. 

It was just wide enough for two to sit there, and 
Don John took his place beside her, and drew one of 
her hands silently to him between both his own, and 
kissed the tips of her fingers a great many times. But 
be felt that she was watching his face, and he looked 
up and saw her eyes —and then, again, many seconds 
passed before either could speak. They were but a 
boy and girl together, loving each other in the tender 
first love of early youth, for the victor of the day, the 
subduer of the Moors, the man who had won back 
Granada, who was already High Admiral of Spain, and 
who in some ten months from that time was to win 
a decisive battle of the world at Lepanto, was a strip¬ 
ling of twenty-three summers —and he had first seen 
Dolores when he was twenty and she seventeen, 
and now it was nearly two years since they had 

met. . 

He was the first to speak, for he was a man of quick 
and unerring determinations that led to actions as sud¬ 
den as they were bold and brilliant, and what Dolores 


64 


IN THE PALACE OF THE KING 


had told Mm of her quarrel with her father was enough 
to rouse Ms whole energy at once. At all costs she 
must never be allowed to pass the gates of Las Huel- 
gas. Once within the convent, by the King’s orders, 
and a close prisoner, nothing short of a sacrilegious as¬ 
sault and armed violence could ever bring her out into 
the world again. He knew that, and that he must act 
instantly to prevent it, for he knew Mendoza’s charac¬ 
ter also, and had no doubt but that he would do what 
he threatened. It was necessary to put Dolores be¬ 
yond his reach at once, and beyond the King’s also, 
wMch was not an easy matter witMn the walls of the 
King’s own palace, and on such a night. Don John 
had been but little at the court and knew next to noth¬ 
ing of its intrigues, nor of the mutual relations of the 
ladies and high officers who had apartments in che 
Alcazar. In his own train there were no women, of 
course. Dolores’ brother Rodrigo, who had fought by 
his side at Granada, had begged to be left behind with 
the garrison, in order that he might not be forced 
to meet his father. Dona Magdalena Quixada, Don 
John’s adoptive mother, was far away at Villagarcia. 
The Duchess Alvarez, though fond of Dolores, was 
Mistress of the Robes to the young Queen, and it was 
not to be hoped nor expected that she should risk the 
danger of utter ruin and disgrace if it were discovered 
that she had hidden the girl against the King’s wishes. 
Yet it was absolutely necessary that Dolores should be 
safely hidden within an hour, and that she should be 
got out of the palace before morning, and if possible 


A M>YE STORY OF OLD MADRID 


m 


conveyed to Villagarcia. Don John saw in a moment 
tliat tliere was no one to whom he could turn® 

Again he took Dolores’ hand in his, but with a sort 
of gravity and protecting authority that had not been 
in his touch the first time. Moreover, he did not kiss 
her fingers now, and he resolutely looked at the wall 
opposite him. Then, in a low and quiet voice, he laid 
the situation before her, while she anxiously listened. 

“ You see,” he said at last, “ there is only one way 
left. Dolores, do you altogether trust me ? ” 

She started a little, and her fingers pressed his hand 
suddenly. 

Trust you ? Ah, with all my soul! w 
“ Think well before you answer,” he said. M You do 
not quite understand—*it is a little hard to put it 
clearly, but I must. I know you trust me in many 
ways, to love you faithfully always, to speak truth to 
you always, to defend you always, to help you with my 
life when you shall be in need. You know that I love 
you so, as you love me. Have we not often said it ? 
You wrote it in your letter, too — ah, dear, I thank you 
for that. Yes, I have read it —I have it here, near 
my heart, and I shall read it again before I sleep — ” 
Without a word, and still listening, she bent down 
and pressed her lips to the place where her letter lay. 
He touched her hair with his lips and went on speak¬ 
ing, as she leaned back against the wall again. 

64 You must trust me even more than that, my be¬ 
loved,” he said. “ To save you, you must be hidden 
by some one whom I myself can trust —« and for such a 


66 


IN THE PALACE OF THE KING 


matter there is no one in the palace nor in all Madrid 
— no one to whom I can turn and know that you will 
be safe — not one human being, except myself.” 

“ Except yourself ! ” Dolores loved the words, and 
gently pressed his hand. 

“ I thank you, dearest heart — but do you know what 
that means ? Do you understand that I must hide you 
myself, in my own apartments, and keep you there 
until I can take you out of the palace, before morning? ” 
She was silent for a few moments, turning her face 
away from him. His heart sank. 

u No, dear,” he said sadly, “you do not trust me 
enough for that — I see it — what woman could ? ” 

Her hand trembled and started in his, then pressed 
it hard, and she turned her face quite to him. 

M You are wrong,” she said, with a tremor in her 
voice. “ I love you as no man was ever loved by any 
woman, far beyond all that all words can say, and I 
shall love you till I die, and after that, for ever — even 
if I can never be your wife. I love you as no one 
loves in these days, and when I say that it is as you 
love me, I mean a thousand fold for every word. I am 
not the child you left nearly two years ago. I am a 
woman now, for I have thought and seen much since 
then — and I love you better and more than then. 
God knows, there is enough to see and to learn in this 
court that should be hidden deep from honest wom¬ 
en's sight! You and I shall have a heaven on this 

earth, if God grants that we may be joined together_ 

for I will live for you, and serve you, and smooth all 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 


67 


trouble out of your way — and ask nothing of you but 
your love. And if we cannot marry, then I will live 
for you in my heart, and serve you with my soul, and 
pray Heaven that harm may never touch you. I will 
pray so fervently that God must hear me. And so 
will you pray for me, as you would fight for me, if you 
could. Remember, if you will, that when you are in 
battle for Spain, your sword is drawn for Spain’s hon¬ 
our, and for the honour of every Christian Spanish 
woman that lives — and for mine, too ! ” 

The words pleased him, and his free hand was sud¬ 
denly clenched. 

“ You would make cowards fight like wolves, if you 
could speak to them like that! ” he said. 

“ I am not speaking to cowards,” she answered, with 
a loving smile. “ I am speaking to the man I love, to 
the best and bravest and truest man that breathes — 
and not to Don John of Austria, the victorious leader, 
but to you, my heart’s love, my life, my all, to you 
who are good and brave and true to me, as no man 
ever was to any woman. No — ” she laughed happily, 
and there were tears in her eyes—“no, there are no 
words for such love as ours.” 

“ May I be all you would have me, and much more,” 
he said fervently, and his voice shook in the short 
speech. 

“I am giving you all I have, because it is not 
belief, it is certainty. I know you are all that I say 
you are, and more too. And I trust you, as you mean 
it, and as you need my trust to save me. Take me 


68 IN THE PALACE OF THE KING 

where you will. Hide me in your own room if you 
must, and bolt and bar it if need be. I shall be as 
safe with you as I should be with my mother in heaven. 

I put my hands between yours.” 

Again he heard her sweet low laughter, full of joy 
and trust, and she laid her hands together between his 
and looked into his eyes, straight and clear. Then she 
spoke softly and solemnly. 

44 Into your hands I put my life, and my faith, and 
my maiden honour, trusting them all to you alone in 
this world, as I trust them to God.” 

Don John held her hands tightly for a moment, still 
looking into her eyes as if he could see her soul there, 
giving itself to his keeping. But he swore no great 
oath, and made no long speech; for a man who has 
led men to deeds of glory, and against whom no dis¬ 
honourable thing was ever breathed, knows that his 
word is good. 

44 You shall not regret that you trust me, and you 
will be quite safe,” he said. 

She wanted no more. Loving as she did, she be¬ 
lieved in him without promises, yet she could not 
always believe that he quite knew how she loved him. 

44 You are dearer to me than I knew,” he said pres¬ 
ently, breaking the silence that followed. 44 1 love you 
even more, and I thought it could never be more, when 
I found you here a little while ago — because you do 
really trust me.” 

44 You knew it,” she said, nestling to him. 44 But you 
wanted me to tell you. Yes — we are nearer now.” 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 


69 


“Far nearer — and a world more dear,” he answered. 
“ Do you know ? In all these months I have often and 
often again wondered how we should meet, whether it 
would be before many people, or only with your sister 
Inez there — or perhaps alone. But I did not dare 
hope for that.” 

“Nor I. I have dreamt of meeting you a hundred 
times — and more than that! But there was always 
some one in the way. I suppose that if we had found 
each other in the court and had only been able to say a 
few words, it would have been a long time before we 
were quite ourselves together — but now, it seems as if 
we had never been parted at all, does it not ? ” 

“As if we could never be parted again,” he an¬ 
swered softly. 

For a little while there was silence, and though 
there was to be a great gathering of the court that 
night, all was very still where the lovers sat in the 
wdndow, for the throne room and the great halls of 
state were far away on the other side of the palace, and 
the corridor looked upon a court through which few 
persons had to pass at night. Suddenly from a dis¬ 
tance there came the rhythmical beat of the Spanish 
drums, as some detachment of troops marched by the 
outer gate. Don John listened. 

“Those are my men,” he said. “We must go, for 
now that they are below I can send my people on 
errands with orders to them, until I am alone. Then 
you must come in. At the end of my apartments there 
is a small room, beyond my own. It is furnished to be 


70 


m THE PALACE OF THE KING 


my study, and no one will expect to enter it at night*. 
I must put you there, and lock the door and take the 
key with me, so that no one can go in while I am at 
court-—or else you can lock it on the inside, yourself. 
That would be better, perhaps,” he added rather hur¬ 
riedly. 

64 No,” said the girl quietly. “I prefer that you 
should have the key. I shall feel even safer. But 
how can I get there without being seen? We cannot 
go so far together without meeting some one.” 

He rose, and she stood up beside him. 

“ My apartments open upon the broad terrace on the 
south side,” he said. “At this time there will be only 
two or three officers there, and my two servants. Follow 
me at a little distance, with your hood over your face, 
and when you reach the sentry-box at the corner where 
I turn off, go in. There will be no sentinel there, and 
the door looks outward. I shall send away every one, 
on different errands, in five minutes. When every on© 
is gone I will come for you. Is that clear ? ” 

“ Perfectly.” She nodded, as if she had made quit© 
sure of what he had explained. Then she put up her 
hands, as if to say good-by. 44 Oh, if we could only 
stay here in peace ! ” she cried. 

He said nothing, for he knew that there was still 
much danger, and he was anxious for her. He only 
pressed her hands and then led her away. They fol¬ 
lowed the corridor together, side by side, to the turn¬ 
ing. Then he whispered to her to drop behind, and! 
she let him go on a dozen paces and followed Mm* 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 


The way was long, and ill lighted at intervals by oil 
lamps hung from the vault by small chains ; they vmt 
a broad black shadow beneath them, and shed a feeble 
light above. Several times persons passed them, and 
Dolores’ heart beat furiously. A court lady, followed 
by a duenna and a serving-woman, stopped with a win¬ 
ning smile, and dropped a low courtesy to Don John, 
who lifted his cap, bowed, and went on. They did not 
look at Dolores. A man in a green cloth apron and 
loose slippers, carrying five lighted lamps in a greasy 
iron tray, passed with perfect indifference, and without 
paying the least attention to the victor of Granada. 
It was his business to carry lamps in that part of the 
palace — he was not a human being, but a lamplighter. 
They went on, down a short flight of broad steps, and 
then through a wider corridor where the lights were 
better, though the night breeze was blowing in and 
made them flicker and flare, 

A corporal’s guard of the household halberdiers 
came swinging down at a marching step, coming from 
the terrace beyond. The corporal crossed his halberd 
in salute, but Don John stopped him, for he understood 
at once that a sentry had been set at his door. 

“ I want no guard,” he said. 6t Take the man away. w 

w The General ordered it, your Highness,” answered 
the man, respectfully. 

66 Request your captain to report to the General that 
I particularly desire no sentinel at my door. I have s© 
possessions to guard except my reputation, and I mm 
t&ke care ©£ that myself.” He laughed good-naturedly. 


IB THE PAJLAOBS OF THE KJM& 


TL0 corporal grinned—he was a very dark, broad- 
faced man, with high cheek bones, and ears that stuck 
out. He faced about with his three soldiers, and fol¬ 
lowed Don John to the terracebut in the distance 
he had seen the hooded figure of a woman. 

Not knowing what to do, for she had heard the collo¬ 
quy, Dolores stood still a moment, for she did not care 
to pass the soldiers as they came back. Then she 
turned and walked a little way in the other direction, to 
gain time, and kept on slowly. In less than a minute 
they returned, bringing the sentinel with them. She 
walked slowly and counted them as they went past her 
— and then she started as if she had been stung, and 
blushed scarlet under her hood, for she distinctly heard 
the big corporal laugh to himself when he had gone by. 
She knew, then, how she trusted the man she loved. 

When the soldiers had turned the corner and were 
out of sight, she ran back to the terrace and hid herself 
in the stone sentry-box just outside, still blushing and 
angry. On the side of the box towards Don John’s 
apartment there was a small square window just at the 
height of her eyes, and she looked through it, sure that 
her face could not be seen from without. She looked 
from mere curiosity, to see what sort of men the offi¬ 
cers were, and Don John’s servants; for everything 
connected with him or belonging to him in any way 
interested her most intensely. Two tall captains came 
out first, magnificent in polished breastplates with gold 
shoulder straps and sashes and gleaming basket-hilted 
swords, that stuck up behind them as their owner® 


A BTOm: OF O&B MADBXB 


pressed down the hilts and strutted along, twisting 
their short black moustaches in the hope of meeting 
some court lady on their way. Then another and 
older man passed, also in a soldier’s dress, but with 
bent head, apparently deep in thoughts After that n© 
one came for some time — then a servant, who pulled 
something cut of his pocket and began to eat it, before 
he was in the corridor. 

Then a woman came past the little window. Dolores 
saw her as distinctly as she had seen the four men. 
She came noiselessly and stealthily, putting down her 
foot delicately, like a cat® She was a lady, and she 
wore a loose cloak that covered all her gown, and on 
her head a thick veil, drawn fourfold across her face. 
Her gait told the girl that she was young and graceful 
— something in the turn of the head made her sure 
that she was beautiful, too something in the whole 
figure and bearing was familiar. The blood sank from 
Dolores’ cheeks, and she felt a chill slowly rising to her 
heart. The lady entered the corridor and went on 
quickly, turned, and was out of sighto 

Then all at once, Dolores laughed to herself, noise¬ 
lessly, and was happy again, in spite of her danger. 
There was nothing to disturb her, she reflected. The 
terrace was long, there were doubtless other apart¬ 
ments beyond Don John’s, though she had not known 
it. The lady had indeed walked cautiously, but it 
might well be that she had reasons for not being seen 
there, and that the further rooms were not hers. The 
Alcazar was only an old Moorish castle, after all. 


n 


m THE PALACE OF THE KING 


restored and irregularly enlarged, and altogether very 
awkwardly built, so that many of the apartments could 
only be reached by crossing open terraces. 

When Don John came to get her in the sentry-box, 
Dolores’ momentary doubt was gone, though not all her 
curiosity. She smiled as she came out of her hiding- 
place and met his eyes — clear and true as her own. 
She even hated herself for having thought that the 
lady could have come from his apartment at all. The 
light was streaming from his open door as he led her 
quickly towards it. There were three windows beyond 
it, and there the terrace ended. She looked at the 
front as they were passing, and counted again three 
windows between the open door and the corner where 
the sentry-box stood. 

“Who lives in the rooms beyond you?” she asked 
quickly. 

“No one —the last is the one where you are to be.” 
He seemed surprised. 

They had reached the open door, and he stood aside 
to let her go in. 

“And on this side?” she asked, speaking with a 
painful effort. 

“ My drawing-room and dining-room,” he answered. 

She paused and drew breath before she spoke again, 
and she pressed one hand to her side under her cloak. 

“ Who was the lady who came from here when a! 
£he m&u were gone ? ” she asked, very pale. 


CHAPTER ¥ 


Don John was a man not easily taken off his guard, 
but he started perceptibly at Dolores’ question. He 
did not change colour, however, nor did his eyes waver 5 
he looked fixedly into her face. 

“No lady has been here,” he answered quietly. 

Dolores doubted the evidence of her own senses. 
Her belief in the man she loved was so great that his 
words seemed at first to have destroyed and swept 
away what must have been a bad dream, or a horrible 
illusion, and her face was quiet and happy again as 
she passed him and went in through the open entrance. 
She found herself in a vestibule from which doors 
opened to the right and left. He turned in the latter 
direction, leading the way into the room. 

It was his bedchamber. Built in the Moorish man¬ 
ner, the vaulting began at the height of a man’s head, 
springing upward in bold and graceful curves to a 
great height. The room was square and very large, 
and the wall below the vault was hung with very beau* 
tiful tapestries representing the battle of Pavia, the 
surrender of Francis the First, and a sort of apothe* 
osis of the Emperor Charles, the father of Don John. 
There were two tall windows, which were quite cov¬ 
ered by curtains of a dark brocade, in which the coats 


?6 IK THE PALACE OP THE EOT® 

of Spain and the Empire were woven in colours 
regular intervals; and opposite them, with the head to 
the wall, stood a vast curtained bedstead with carved 
posts twice a man’s height. The vaulting had been 
cut on that side, in order that the foot of the bed 
might stand back against the wall. The canopy had 
coats of arms at the four corners, and the curtains 
were of dark green corded silk, heavily embroidered 
with gold thread in the beautiful scrolls and ara¬ 
besques of the period of the Renascence. A carved 
table, dark and polished, stood half way between the 
foot of the bedstead and the space between the win¬ 
dows, where a magnificent kneeling-stool with red vel¬ 
vet cushions was placed under a large crucifix. Half a 
dozen big chairs were ranged against the long walls on 
each side of the room, and two commodious folding 
chairs with cushions of embossed leather were beside 
the table. Opposite the door by which Dolores had 
entered, another communicated with the room beyond. 
Both were carved and ornamented with scroll work of 
gilt bronze, but were without curtains. Three or four 
Eastern rugs covered the greater part of the polished 
marble pavement, which here and there reflected the 
light of the tall wax torches that stood on the table in 
silver candlesticks, and on each side of the bed upon 
low standso The vault above the tapestried walls was 
very dark blue, and decorated with gilded stars in 
relief. Dolores thought the room gloomy, and almost 
funereal. The bed looked like a catafalque, the can¬ 
dles like funeral torches, and the whole place breathed 


A LOVE STOEY OF OLD MADBED 77 

the magnificent discomfort of royalty, and seemed 
hardly intended for a human habitation. 

Dolores barely glanced at it all, as her companion 
locked the first door and led her on to the next room. 
He knew that he had not many minutes to spare, and 
was anxious that she should be in her hiding-place 
before his servants came back. She followed him and 
went in. Unlike the bedchamber, the small study was 
scantily and severely furnished. It contained only a 
writing-table, two simple chairs, a straight-backed 
divan covered with leather, and a large chest of black 
oak bound with ornamented steel work. The window 
was curtained with dark stuff, and two wax candles 
burned steadily beside the writing-materials that were 
spread out ready for use. 

“This is the room,” Don John said, speaking for 
the first time since they had entered the apartments. 

Dolores let her head fall back, and began to looser 
her cloak at her throat without answering him. H@ 
helped her, and laid the long garment upon the divan. 
Then he turned and saw her in the full light of the 
candles, looking at him, and he uttered an exclamation. 

“ What is it ?” she asked almost dreamily. 

“You are very beautiful,” he answered in a low 
voice. “You are the most beautiful woman I ever 
saw.” 

The merest girl knows the tone of a man whose 
genuine admiration breaks out unconsciously in plain 
words, and Dolores was a grown woman. A faint colour 
rose in her cheek, and her lips parted to smile, but hex 


^8 IK THE PALACE OP THE KING 

eyes were grave and anxious, for the doubt had sb* 
turned, and would not be thrust away* She had seen 
the lady in the cloak and veil during several seconds* 
and though Dolores, who had been watching the men 
whc passed, had not actually seen her come out of Don 
John s apartments, but had been suddenly aware of 
her as she glided by, it seemed out of the question that 
she should have come from any other place. There 
was neither niche nor embrasure between the door and 
-he corridor, in which the lady could have been hidden* 
and it was hardly conceivable that she should have 
been waiting outside for some mysterious purpose, and 
should not have fled as soon as she heard the two 
officers coming out, since she evidently wished to 
escape observation. On the other hand, Don John 
had quietly denied that any woman had been there, 
which meant at all events that he had not seen any 
one. It could mean nothing else. 

Dolores was neither foolishly jealous nor at all sus¬ 
picious by nature, and the man was her ideal of truth- 
fulness and honour. She stood looking at him, resting 
one hand on the table, while he came slowly towards 
her, moving almost unconsciously in the direction of 
her exquisite beauty, as a plant lifts itself to the sun 
at morning.. He was near to her, and he stretched out 
his arms as if to draw her to him. She smiled then* 
for in his eyes she forgot her trouble for a moment, 
md she would have kissed him. But suddenly his 
face grew grave, and he set his teeth, and instead of 
taking her into his arms, he took one of her hands and 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID T§ 

f&ised it to his lips, as if it had been the hand of Ms 
brother’s wife, the young Queen. 

“Why?” she asked in surprise, and with a little 
start. 

“You are here under my protection,” he answered. 
“ Let me have my own way.” 

“Yes, I understand. How good you are to me!” 
She paused, and then went on, seating herself upon 
one of the chairs by the table as she spoke. “Yon 
must leave me now,” she said. “You must lock me 
in and keep the key. Then I shall know that I am 
safe; and in tho meantime you must decide how I am 
to escape — it will not be easy.” She stopped again. 
“I wonder who that woman was!” she exclaimed at 
last. 

“There was no woman here,” replied Don John, as 
quietly and assuredly as before. 

He was leaning upon the table at the other side, with 
both hands resting upon it, looking at her beautiful 
hair as she bent her head. 

“Say that you did not see her,” she said, “not that 
she was not here, for she passed me after all the men, 
walking very cautiously to make no noise 5 and when 
she was in the corridor she ran—-she was young and 
light-footed. I could not see her face.” 

“You believe me, do you not?” asked Don John, 
bending over the table a little, and speaking very 
anxiously. 

She turned her face up instantly, her eyes wide mi 
bright. 


m THE PALACE OF THE 


w Should I be here if I did not trust you and belies 
you ? ” she asked almost fiercely, 64 Do you think — do 
you dare to think — that I would have passed your 
door if I had supposed that another woman had been 
here before me, and had been turned out to make room 
for me, and would have stayed here —here in your 
room —if you had not sent her away? If I had 
thought that, I would have left you at your door 
forever. I would have gone back to my father. E 
would have gone to Las Huelgas to-morrow, and not to 
be a prisoner, but to live and die there in the only life 
fit for a broken-hearted woman. Oh, no ! You dar© 
not think that, —you who would dare anything? If 
you thought that, you could not love me as I love you, 
— believing, trusting, staking life and soul on your 
truth and faith! ” 

The generous spirit had risen in her eyes, roused not 
against him, but by all bis question might be made to 
mean ; and as she met his look of grateful gladness her 
anger broke away, and left only perfect love and trust 
behind it. 

“ A man would die for you, and wish he might die 
twice,” he answered, standing upright, as if a weight 
had been taken from him and he were free to breathe. 

She looked up at the pale, strong features of the 
young fighter, who was so great and glorious almost 
before the down had thickened on his lip $ and she saw 
something almost above nature in his face,—something 
high and angelic, yet manly and well fitted to face 
earthly battles. He was her sun, her young god* her 


& LOY15 ST0KY OF OLD M ABETS) ffi 

perfect image of perfection, the very source of her 
trust. It would have killed her to doubt him. Her 
whole soul went up to him in her eyes ; and as he was 
ready to die for her, she knew that for him she would 
suffer every anguish death could hold, and not flinch. 

Then she looked down, and suddenly laughed a little 
oddly, and her Anger pointed towards the pens and 
paper. 

“She has left something behind,” she said. “Sha 
was clever to get in here and slip out again without 
being seen.” 

Don John looked where she pointed, and saw a small 
letter folded round the stems of two white carnations, 
and neatly tied with a bit of twisted sills. It was laid 
between the paper and the bronze inkstand, and half 
hidden by the broad white feather of a goose-quill pen, 
that seemed to have been thrown carelessly across the 
flowers. It lay there as if meant to be found only by 
one who wrote, and not to attract too much attention. 

“ Oh! ” he exclaimed, in a rather singular tone, as he 
saw it, and a boyish blush reddened his face. 

Then he took the letter and drew out the two flowers 
by the blossoms very carefully, Dolores watched him. 
He seemed in doubt as to what he should do ; and the 
blush subsided quickly, and gave way to a look of 
settled annoyance. The carnations were quite fresh, 
and had evidently not been plucked more than an hour. 
He held them up a moment and looked at them, then 
laid them down again and took the note. There was 
©o> writing on the outside. Without opening it he 


82 IN THE PALACE OF THE KING 

held it to the flame of the candle, but Dolores caught 
his wrist. 

“ Why do you not read it ? ” she asked quickly. 

“Dear, I do not know who wrote it, and I do not 
wish to know anything you do not know also.” 

“You have no idea who the woman is?” Dolores 
looked at him wonderingly. 

“Not the very least,” he answered with a smile. 

“ But I should like to know so much ! ” she cried. 
“Do read it and tell me. I do not understand the 
thing at all.” 

“I cannot do that.” He shook his head. “That 
would be betraying a woman’s secret. I do not know 
who it is, and I must not let you know, for that would 
not be honourable.” 

“You are right,” she said, after a pause. “You 
always are. Burn it.” 

He pushed the point of a steel erasing-knife through 
the piece of folded paper and held it over the flame. 
It turned brown, crackled and burst into a little 
blaze, and in a moment the black ashes fell fluttering 
to the table. 

“What do you suppose it was?” asked Dolores 
innocently, as Don John brushed the ashes away. 

“Dear —it is very ridiculous —I am ashamed of it, 
and I do not quite know how to explain it to you.” 
Again he blushed a little. “ It seems strange to speak 
of it —I never even told my mother. At first I used 
to open them, but now I generally burn them like this 
one** 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 


44 Generally ! Do you mean to say that you often 
find women’s letters with flowers in them on your 
table?” 

“ I find them everywhere,” answered Don John, with 
perfect simplicity. “ I have found them in my gloves, 
tied into the basket hilt of my sword — often they are 
brought to me like ordinary letters by a messenger 
who waits for an answer. Once I found one on my 
pillow ! ” 

u But ” — Dolores hesitated — 44 but are they — ar© 
they all from the same person?” she asked timidly, 
Don John laughed, and shook his head. 

44 She would need to be a very persistent and indus¬ 
trious person,” he answered. 44 Do you not under- 
stand?” 

44 No. Who are these women who persecute you with 
their writing? And why do they write to you? Do 
they want you to help them ? ” 

44 Not exactly that; ” he was still smiling. 44 1 ought 
not to laugh, I suppose. They are ladies of the court 
sometimes, and sometimes others, and I — I fancy that 
they want me to—-how shall I say? — to begin by 
writing them letters of the same sort.” 

44 What sort of letters ? ” 

44 Why — love letters,” answered Don John, driven 
to extremity in spite of his resistance. 

44 Love letters 1 ” cried Dolores, understanding at last, 
44 Do you mean to say that there are women whom you 
do not know, who tell you that they love you before 
you have ever spoken to them ? Do you mean that a 


84 


IN THE PALACE OF THE KING 


lady of the court, whom you have probably never even 
seen, wrote that note and tied it up with flowers and 
risked everything to bring it here, just in the hope that 
you might notice her ? It is horrible I It is vile ! It 
is shameless ! It is beneath anything I ” 

“ You say she was a lady-—you saw her. I did not. 
But that is what she did, whoever she may be.” 

“ And there are women like that -— here, in the pal¬ 
ace ! How little I know ! ” 

“ And the less you learn about the world, the better/ 3 
answered the young soldier shortly. 

“But you have never answered one, have you?” 
asked Dolores, with a scorn that showed how sure she 
was of his reply. 

“No.” He spoke thoughtfully. “I once thought 
of answering one. I meant to tell her that she was out 
of her senses, but I changed my mind. That was long 
ago, before I knew you — when I was eighteen.” 

“ Ever since you were a boy ! ” 

The look of wonder was not quite gone from her face 
yet, but she was beginning to understand more clearly, 
though still very far from distinctly. It did not occur 
to her once that such things could be temptations to 
the brilliant young leader whom every woman admired 
and every man flattered, and that only his devoted love 
for her had kept him out of ignoble adventures since 
he had grown to be a man. Had she seen that, she 
would have loved him even better, if it were possible. 
It was all, as she had said, shameless and abominable. 
She had thought that she knew much of evil, and she 


A LOVE STORY OF OLB MABRIB 


had even told him so that evening, but this was far 
beyond anything she had dreamt of in her innocent 
thoughts, and she instinctively felt that there were 
lower depths of degradation to which a woman could 
fall, and of which she would not try to guess the vile* 
less and horror. 

“Shall I burn the flowers, too?” asked Don John, 
taking them in his hand. 

“ The flowers ? No. They are innocent and fresho 
What have they to do with her ? Give them to me.” 

He raised them to his lips, looking at her, and then 
held them out. She took them, and kissed them, as he 
had done, and they both smiled happily. Then she 
fastened them in her hair. 

“No one will see me to-night but you,” she said. “1 
may wear flowers in my hair like a peasant woman ! 99 

« How they make the gold gleam I ” he exclaimed, 
as he looked. “ It is almost time that my men came 
back,” he said sadly. “When I go down to the 
court, I shall dismiss them. After the royal supper I 
shall try and come here again and see you. By that 
time everything will be arranged. I have thought of 
almost everything already. My mother will provide 
you with everything you need. To-morrow evening 
I can leave this place myself to go and see her, as I 
always do.” 

He always spoke of Dofia Magdalena Quixada as his 
mother—-he had never known his own. 

Dolores rose from her seat, for he was ready to go. 

“ I trust you in everything,” she said simply® u I do 


86 


IK THE PALACE OF THE KING 


not need to know how you will accomplish it all—it is 
enough to know that you will. Tell Inez, if you can — 
protect her if my father is angry with her.” 

He held out his hand to take hers, and she was going 
to give it, as she had done before. But it was too lib- 
tie. Before he knew it she had thrown her arms round 
his neck, and was kissing him, with little cries and 
broken words of love. Then she drew back suddenly, 

46 1 could not help it,” she said. “Now lock me in. 
No —do not say good-by — even for two hours 1 ” 

44 1 will come back as soon as I can,” he answered, 
and with a long look he left her, closed the door and 
locked it after him, leaving her alone. 

She stood a few moments looking at the panels as 
if her sight could pierce them and reach him on the 
other side, and she tried to hold the last look she 
had seen in his eyes. Hardly two minutes had 
elapsed before she heard voices and footsteps in the 
bedchamber. Don John spoke in short sentences 
now and then to his servants, and his voice was com¬ 
manding though it was kindly. It seemed strange to 
be so near him in his life; she wondered whether 
she should some day always be near him, as she was 
now, and nearer; she blushed, all alone. So many 
things had happened, and he and she had found so 
much to say that nothing had been said at all of 
what was to follow her flight to Villagarcia. She 
was to leave for the Quixadas 5 house before morning, 
but Quixada and his wife could not protect her against 
her father, if he found out where she was, unless 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 8? 

she were married. After that, neither Mendoza nor 
any one else, save the King himself, would presume 
to interfere with the liberty of Don John of Austria’s 
wife. All Spain would rise to protect her — she was 
sure of that. But they had said nothing about a 
marriage and had wasted time over that unknown 
woman’s abominable letter. Since she reasoned it 
out to herself, she saw that in all probability the 
ceremony would take place as soon as Don John reached 
Yillagarcia. He was powerful enough to demand the 
necessary permission of the Archbishop, and he would 
bring it with him; but no priest, even in the absence 
of a written order, would refuse to marry him if he 
desired it. Between the real power he possessed and 
the vast popularity he enjoyed, he could command 
almost anything. 

She heard his voice distinctly just then, though 
she was not listening for it. He was telling a ser¬ 
vant to bring white shoes. The fact struck her be¬ 
cause she had never seen him wear any that were 
not black or yellow. She smiled and wished that 
she might bring him his white shoes and hang his 
order of the Golden Fleece round his neck, and breathe 
on the polished hilt of his sword and rub it with 
soft leather. She had seen Eudaldo furbish her 
father’s weapons in that way since she had been a 
child. 

It had all come so suddenly in the end. Shading 
her eyes from the candles with her hand, she rested 
one elbow on the table, and tried to think of what 


88 IN THE PALACE OF THE KING 

should naturally have happened, of what must have 
happened if the unknown voice among the courtiers 
had not laughed and roused her father’s anger and 
brought all the rest. Don John would have come 
to the door, and Eudaldo would have let him in—= 
because no one could refuse him anything and he 
was the King’s brother. He would have spent half 
an hour with her in the little drawing-room, and it 
would have been a constrained meeting, with Inez 
near, though she would presently have left them 
alone. Then, by this time, she would have gone 
down with the Duchess Alvarez and the other maids 
of hsmem^ sad by and by she would have followed the 
Queen when she entered the throne room with the 
King and Don John; and she might not have exchanged 
another word with the latter for a whole day, or two 
days. But now it seemed almost certain that she was 
to be his wife within the coming week. He was in 
the next room. 

“Do not put the sword away,” she heard him say. 
“Leave it here on the table.” 

Of course; what should he do with a sword in 
his court dress? But if he had met her father in 
the corridor, coming to her after the supper, he 
would have been unarmed. Her father, on the con¬ 
trary, being on actual duty, wore the sword of his 
rank, like any other officer of the guards, and the 
King wore a rapier as a part of his state dress. 

She was astonished at the distinctness with which 
she heard what was said in the next room. That 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 89 

was doubtless due to the construction of the vault, 
as she vaguely guessed. It was true that Don John 
spoke very clearly, but she could hear the servants’ 
subdued answers almost as well, when she listened. 
It seemed to her that he took but a very short time 
to dress. 

“I have the key of that room,” he said presently. 
44 1 have my papers there. You are at liberty till 
midnight. My hat, my gloves. Call my gentlemen, 
one of you, and tell them to meet me in the corridor.” 

She could almost hear him drawing on his gloves. 
One of the servants went out. 

“Fadrique,” said Don John, “leave out my riding- 
cloak. I may like to walk on the terrace in the 
moonlight, and it is cold. Have my drink ready at 
midnight and wait for me. Send Gil to sleep, for 
he was up last night.” 

There was a strange pleasure in hearing his famil¬ 
iar orders and small directions and in seeing how 
thoughtful he was for his servants. She knew that 
he had always refused to be surrounded by valets 
and gentlemen-in-waiting, and lived very simply when 
he could, but i* was different to be brought into such 
close contact with his life. There was a wonderful 
gentleness in his ways that contrasted widely with 
her father’s despotic manner and harsh tone when he 
gave orders. Mendoza believed himself the type and 
model of a soldier and a gentleman, and he main¬ 
tained that without rigid discipline there could be 
no order and no safety at home or in the army. But 


90 IK THE PALACE OF THE KING 

between him and Don John there was all the differ* 
ence that separates the born leader of men from the 
mere martinet. 

Dolores listened. It was clear that Don John was 
not going to send Fadrique away in order to see 
her again before he went down to the throne rooxn v 
though she had almost hoped he might. 

On the contrary, some one else came. She heard 
Fadrique announce him. 

“The Captain Don Juan de Escobedo is in wait¬ 
ing, your Highness,” said the servant. “ There is also 
Adonis.” 

“ Adonis! ” Don John laughed, not at the name^ 
for it was familiar to him, but at the mere mention 
of the person who bore it and who was the King’s 
dwarf jester, Miguel de Antona, commonly known by 
his classic nickname. “ Bring Adonis here — he is an 
old friend.” 

The door opened again, and Dolores heard the well- 
known voice of the hunchback, clear as a woman’s, 
scornful and full of evil laughter, — the sort of voice 
that is heard instantly in a crowd, though it is not 
always recognizable. The fellow came in, talking 
loud. 

“ Ave Csesar! ” he cried from the door. “ Hail, 
conqueror! All hail, thou favoured of heaven, of man, 
*— and of the ladies I ” 

“The ladies too?” laughed Don John, probably 
amused by the dwarf’s antics. “ Who told you that ? ” 

“ The cook, sir. For as you rode up to the gate this 



In the Palace of the King. A Goldwyn Cosmopolitan Picture. 

DON JOHN BEGINS THE MARCH TO GRANADA 





























A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 91 

afternoon a scullery maid saw you from the cellar 
grating and has been raving mad ever since, singing 
of the sun, moon, and undying love, until the kitchen 
is more like a mad-house than this house would be if 
the Day of Judgment came before or after Lent.” 

“ Do you fast in Lent, Adonis?” 

“ I fast rigidly three times a day, my lord conqueror* 
-—no, six, for I eat nothing either just before or just 
after my breakfast, my dinner, and my supper. No 
monk can do better than that, for at those times I eat 
nothing at all.” 

« If you said your prayers as often as you fast, you 
would be in a good way,” observed Don John. 

“I do, sir. I say a short grace before and after 
eating. Why have you come to Madrid, my lord? 
Do you not know that Madrid is the worst, the wick¬ 
edest, the dirtiest, vilest, and most damnable habita¬ 
tion devised by man for the corruption of humanity? 
Especially in the month of November? Has your 
lordship any reasonable reason for tliis unreason of 
coming here, when the streets are full of mud, and 
men’s hearts are packed like saddle-bags with all the 
pins they have .accumulated since Easter and mean to 
unload at Christmas? Even your old friends are 
shocked to see so young and honest a prince in such 
a place! ” 

46 My old friends ? Who ? ” 

“I saw Saint John the Conqueror graciously wave 
his hand to a most highly respectable old nobleman 
this afternoon, and the nobleman was so much shecked 


92 


IK THE PALACE OF THE KXK0 


that he could not stir an arm to return the salutation! 
His legs must have done something, though, for he 
seemed to kick his own horse up from the ground 
under him. The shock must have been terrible. As 
for me, I laughed aloud, which made both the old 
nobleman and Don Julius Caesar of Austria exceed¬ 
ingly angry. Get before me, Don Fadrique! I am 
afraid of the terror of the Moors,— and no shame to 
me either! A poor dwarf, against a man who tears 
armies to shreds,—-and sends scullery maids into 
hysterics! What is a poor crippled jester compared 
with a powerful scullery maid or an army of heathen 
Moriscoes? Give me that sword, Fadrique, or I am 
a dead man ! 99 

But Don John was laughing good-naturedly. 

“So it was you, Adonis? I might have known 
your voice, I should think.” 

“No one ever knows my voice, sir. It is not © 
voice, it is a freak of grammar. It is masculine, femi¬ 
nine, and neuter in gender, singular by nature, and 
generally accusative, and it is optative in mood and 
full of acute accents. If you can find such another 
voice in creation, sir, I will forfeit mine in the King ? s 
councils.” 

Adonis laughed now, and Dolores remembered the 
laughter she had heard from the window. 

“Does his Majesty consult you on matters of state?” 
inquired Don John. “Answer quickly, for I must 
be going.” 

“ It takes twice as long to tell a story to two men* 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 


as to teii it to one, —when you have to tell them 
different stories,” 

“Go, Fadrique,” said Don John, “and shut the 
door.” 

The dwarf, seeing the servant gone, beckoned Don 
John to the other side of the room. 

“ It is no great secret, being only the King’s,” he 
said. “His Majesty bids me tell yonr Serene High¬ 
ness that he wishes to speak with you privately about 
some matters, and that he will come here soon after 
supper, and begs you to be alone.” 

“ I will be here — alone.” 

“Excellent, sir. Now there is another matter ©f 
secrecy which is just the contrary of what I have told 
you, for it is a secret from the King. A lady laid a 
letter and two white carnations on your writing-table. 
If there is any answer to be taken, I will take it.” 

“There is none,” answered Don John sternly, 
“ Tell the lady that I burned the letter without read¬ 
ing it. Go, Adonis, and the next time you come here, 
do not bring messages from women. Fadrique I ” 

“Your Highness burned the letter without read- 
ing it?” 

“Yes. Fadrique!” 

“ I am sorry,” said the dwarf, in a low voice. 

No more words were spoken, and in a few moments 
there was deep silence, for they were all gone, and 
Dolores was alone, locked into the little room. 


CHAPTER VI 


Thu great throne room of the palace was crowded 
with courtiers long before the time when the King and 
Queen and Don John of Austria were to appear, and 
the entries and halls by which it was approached were 
almost as full. Though the late November air was 
keen, the state apartments were at summer heat, 
warmed by thousands of great wax candles that burned 
in chandeliers, and in huge sconces and on high cande¬ 
labra that stood in every corner. The light was every¬ 
where, and was very soft and yellow, while the odour 
of the wax itself was perceptible in the air, and helped 
the impression that the great concourse was gathered 
in a wide cathedral for some solemn function rather 
than in a throne room to welcome a victorious soldier. 
Yast tapestries, dim and rich in the thick air, covered 
the walls between the tall Moorish windows, and above 
them the great pointed vaulting, ornamented with the 
fantastically modelled stucco of the Moors, was like 
the creamy crests of waves lashed into foam by the 
wind, thrown upright here, and there blown forward in 
swift spray, and then again breaking in the fall to 
thousands of light and exquisite shapes ; and the whole 
vault thus gathered up the light of the candles into 
94 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID* 


05 


itself and shed it downward, distributing it into every 
corner and lighting every face in a soft and golden 

glow* 

At the upper end, between two great doors that were 
like the gateways of an eastern city, stood the vacant 
throne, on a platform approached by three broad steps 
and covered with deep red cloth; and there stood 
magnificent officers of the guard in gilded corslets and 
plumed steel caps, and other garments of scarlet and 
gold, with their drawn swords out. But Mendoza 
was not there yet, for it was his duty to enter with 
the King’s own guard, preceding the Majorduomo, 
Above the throne, a huge canopy of velvet, red and 
yellow, was reared up around the royal coat of arms. 

To the right and left, on the steps, stood carved 
stools with silken cushions<— those on the right for 
the chief ministers and nobles of the kingdom, those on 
the left for the great ladies of the court. These would 
all enter in the King’s train and take their places. 
For the throng of courtiers who filled the floor and th© 
entries there were no seats, for only a score of the 
highest and greatest personages were suffered to sit in 
the royal presence. A few, who were near the win¬ 
dows, rested themselves surreptitiously on the high 
mouldings of the pilasters, pushing aside the curtains 
cautiously, and seeming from a distance to be standings 
while they were in reality comfortably seated, an object 
®f laughing envy and of many witticisms to their less 
fortunate fellow-courtiers. The throng was not so 
close k ut that it was possible to move in the middle ol 


nf the palace of the king 


the hall, and almost all the persons there were slowly 
changing place, some going forward to be nearer ths 
throne, others searching for their friends among their 
many acquaintances, that they might help the tedious 
hour to pass more quickly. 

Seen from the high gallery above the arch of the 
great entrance the hall was a golden cauldron full of 
rich hues that intermingled in streams, and made slow 
eddies with deep shadows, and then little waves of 
light that turned upon themselves, as the colours thrown 
into the dyeing vat slowly seethe and mix together in 
rivulets of dark blue and crimson, and of splendid 
purple that seems to turn black in places and then is 
suddenly shot through with flashes of golden and 
opalescent light. Here and there also a silvery gleam 
flashed in the darker surface, like a pearl in wine, for a 
few of the court ladies were dressed all in white, with 
silver and many pearls, and diamonds that shed littl© 
rays of their own. 

The dwarf Adonis had been there for a few mo¬ 
ments behind the lattice which the Moors had left, and 
as he stood there alone, where no one ever thought of 
going, he listened to the even and not unmusical sound 
that came up from the great assembly — the full chorus 
of speaking voices trained never to be harsh or high, 
and to use chosen words, with no loud exclamations, 
laughing only to please and little enough out of merri¬ 
ment ; and they would not laugh at all after the King 
and Queen came in, but would only murmur low and 
pleasant flatteries, the change as sudden as when the 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 9 ? 

musician at the keys closes the full organ all at ones 
and draws gentle harmonies from softer stops* 

The jester had stood there, and looked down with 
deep-set, eager eyes, his crooked face pathetically sad 
and drawn, but alive with a swift and meaning intelli¬ 
gence, while the thin and mobile lips expressed a sort 
of ready malice which could break out in bitterness or 
turn to a kindly irony according as the touch that 
moved the man’s sensitive nature was cruel or friendly* 
He was scarcely taller than a boy of ten years old, but 
his full-grown arms hung down below his knees, and 
his man’s head, with the long, keen face, was set far 
forward on his shapeless body, so that in speaking with 
persons of ordinary stature he looked up under his 
brows, a little sideways, to see better. Smooth red 
hair covered his bony head, and grew in a carefully 
trimmed and pointed beard on his pointed chin. A 
loose doublet of crimson velvet hid the outlines of his 
crooked back and projecting breastbone, and the rest 
of his dress was of materials as rich, and all red. He 
was, moreover, extraordinarily careful of his appear¬ 
ance, and no courtier had whiter or more delicately 
tended hands or spent more time before the mirror in 
tying a shoulder knot, and in fastening the stiffened 
collar of white embroidered linen at the fashionable 
angle behind his neck. 

He had entered the latticed gallery on his way to 
Don John’s apartments with the King’s message. A 
small and half-concealed door, known to few except the 
servants of the palace, opened upon it suddenly from a 


98 


IN THE PALACK OF THE KING 


niche in one of the upper corridors. In Moorish days 
the ladies of the harem had been wont to go there 
unseen to see the reception of ambassadors oi state? 
and such ceremonies, at which, even veiled, they could 
never be present. 

He only stayed a few moments, and though his eyes 
were eager, it was by habit rather than because they 
were searching for any one in the crowd. It pleased 
him now and then to see the court world as a spectacle, 
as it delights the hard-worked actor to be for once a 
spectator at another’s play. He was an integral part 
of the court himself, a man of whom most was often 
expected when he had the least to give, to whom it 
was scarcely permitted to say anything in ordinary 
language, but to whom almost any license of familiar 
speech was freely allowed. He was not a man, he was 
a tradition, a thing that had to be where it was from 
generation to generation; wherever the court had lived 
a jester lay buried, and often two and three, for they 
rarely lived an ordinary lifetime. Adonis thought of 
that sometimes, when he was alone, or when he looked 
down at the crowd of delicately scented and richly 
dressed men and women, every one called by some 
noble name, who would doubtless laugh at some jest of 
Ms before the night was over. To their eyes the fool 
was a necessary servant, because there had always been 
a fool at court; he was as indispensable as a chief but¬ 
ler, a chief cook, or a state coachman, and much more 
amusing. But he was not a man, he had no name, he 
!had no place among men, he was not supposed to havs 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID W 

u mother, a wife, a home, anything that belonged to 
humanity* He was well lodged, indeed, where the last 
fool had died, and richly clothed as the other had been, 
and he fed delicately, and was given the fine wines of 
France to drink, lest his brain should be clouded by 
stronger liquor and he should fail to make the court 
laugh. But he knew well enough that somewhere in 
Toledo or Valladolid the next court jester was being 
trained to good manners and instructed in the art of 
wit, to take the vacant place when he should die. It 
pleased him therefore sometimes to look down at the 
great assemblies from the gallery and to reflect that all 
those magnificent fine gentlemen and tenderly nurtured 
beauties of Spain were to die also, and that there was 
scarcely one of them, man or woman, for whose death 
some one was not waiting, and waiting perhaps with 
evil anxiety and longing* They were splendid to see, 
those fair women in their brocades and diamonds, those 
dark young princesses and duchesses in velvet and in 
pearls. He dreamed of them sometimes, fancying him¬ 
self one of those Djin of the southern mountains of 
whom the Moors told blood-curdling tales, and in the 
dream he flew down from the gallery on broad, black 
wings and carried off the youngest and most beautiful, 
straight to his magic fortress above the sea* 

They never knew that he was sometimes up there, 
and on this evening he did not wait long, for he had his 
message to deliver and must be in waiting on the King 
before the royal train entered the throne room. After 
ho wa® gone, the courtiers waited long, and more and 


i m 


m THE PALA€B OF THE KWB 


more came in from without, Now and then the crowd 
parted as best it might, to allow some grandee who wore 
the order of the Golden Fleece or of some other exalted 
order, to lead his lady nearer to the throne, as was his 
right, advancing with measured steps, and bowing 
gravely to the right and left as he passed up to th© 
front among his peers. And just behind them, on on© 
side, the young girls, of whom many were to be pre¬ 
sented to the King and Queen that night, drew to¬ 
gether and talked in laughing whispers, gathering m 
groups and knots of three and four, in a sort of irregu¬ 
lar rank behind their mothers or the elder ladies who 
were to lead them to the royal presence and pronounce 
their names. There was more light where they were 
gathered, the shadows were few and soft, the colours 
tender as the tints of roses in a garden at sunset, and 
from the place where they stood the sound of young 
voices came silvery and clear. That should have been 
Inez de Mendoza’s place if she had not been blindo 
But Inez had never been willing to be there, though 
she had more than once found her way to the gallery 
where the dwarf had stood, and had listened, and 
smelled the odour of the wax candles and the perfumes 
that rose with the heated air. 

It was long before the great doors on the right hand 
of the canopy were thrown open, but courtiers are ac¬ 
customed from their childhood to long waiting, and th© 
greater part of their occupation at court is to see and 
to be seen, and those who can do both and can take 
pleasure in either are rarely impatient, Moreover 


A mvm stobx of olb mab mm !tn 

many found an opportunity of exchanging quick words 
and of making sudden plans for meeting, who would 
have found it hard to exchange a written message, and 
who had few chances of seeing each other in the ordi» 
nary course of their lives; and others had waited long 
to deliver a cutting speech, well studied and tempered 
to hurt, and sought their enemies in the crowd with 
the winning smile a woman wears to deal her keenest 
thrust. There were men, too, who had great interests 
at stake and sought the influence of such as lived near 
the King, flattering every one who could possibly be of 
use, and coolly overlooking any who had a matter of 
their own to press, though they were of their own kin. 
Many officers of Don John’s army were there, too, 
bright-eyed and bronzed from their campaigning, and 
ready to give their laurels for roses, leaf by leaf, with 
any lady of the court who would make a fair exchange 
—and of these there were not a few, and the time 
seemed short to them. There were also ecclesiastics, 
but not many, in sober black and violet garments, and 
they kept together in one corner and spoke a jargon of 
Latin and Spanish which the courtiers could not under¬ 
stand ; and all who were there, the great courtiers and 
the small, the bishops and the canons, the stout prin¬ 
cesses laced to suffocation and to the verge of apo¬ 
plexy, and fanning themselves desperately in the heat, 
and their slim, dark-eyed daughters, cool and laughing 
— they were all gathered together to greet Spain’s 
youngest and greatest hero, Don John of Austria* who 
had won back Granada from the Moors, 


102 IN THE PALACE OF THE KING 

As the doors opened at last, a distant blast of silver 
trumpets rang in from without, and the full chorus of 
speaking yoices was hushed to a mere breathing that 
died away to breathless silence during a few moments 
as the greatest sovereign of the age, and one of the 
strangest figures of all time, appeared before his court. 
The Grand Master of Ceremonies entered first, in his 
robe of office, bearing a long white staff. In the still® 
ness his voice rang out to the ends of the hall: 

« His Majesty the King! Her Majesty the Queen! ” 

Then came a score of halberdiers of the guard, picked 
men of great stature, marching in even steps, led by 
old Mendoza himself, in his breastplate and helmet } 
sword in hand ; and he drew up the guard at one side 
in a rank, making them pass him so that he stood next 
to the door. 

After the guards came Philip the Second, a tall and 
melancholy figure ; and with him, on his left side, 
walked the young Queen, a small, thin figure in white, 
with sad eyes and a pathetic face—wondering, perhaps, 
whether she was to follow soon those other queens who 
had walked by the same King to the same court, and 
had all died before their time —Mary of Portugal, 
Mary of England, Isabel of Valois. 

The King was one of those men who seem marked by 
destiny rather than by nature, fateful, sombre, almost 
repellent in manner, born to inspire a vague fear at first 
sight, and foreordained to strange misfortune or to ex® 
traordinary success, one of those human beings frosa 


A LOYE STORY OF OLD MADRID 


108 


whom all men shrink instinctively, and before whom 
they easily lose their fluency of speech and confidence 
of thought. Unnaturally still eyes, of an uncertain 
colour, gazed with a terrifying fixedness upon a human 
world, and were oddly set in the large and perfectly 
colourless face that was like an exaggerated waxen 
mask. The pale lips did not meet evenly, the lower 
one protruding, forced outward by the phenomenal jaw 
that has descended to this day in the House of Austria* 
A meagre beard, so fair that it looked faded, accentuated 
the chin rather than concealed it, and the hair on the 
head was of the same undecided tone, neither thin nor 
thick, neither long nor short, but parted, and combed 
with the utmost precision about the large but very finely 
moulded ears. The brow was very full as well as broad, 
and the forehead high, the whole face too large, even for 
a man so tall, and disquieting in its proportions. Philip 
bent his head forward a little when at rest; when he 
looked about him it moved with something of the slow, 
sure motion of a piece of mechanism, stopping now and 
then, as the look in the eyes solidified to a stare, and 
then, moving again, until curiosity was satisfied and il 
resumed its first attitude, and remained motionless, 
whether the lips were speaking or not. 

Very tall and thin, and narrow chested, the figure 
was clothed ail in cream-coloured silk and silver, relieved 
only by the collar of the Golden Fleece, the solitary 
order the King wore. His step was ungraceful and 
slow, as if his thin limbs bore his light weight with 
difficulty, and he sometimes stumbled in walking On® 


104 VS THE PALACE OF THE KIKG 

hand rested on the hilt of his sword as he walked, and 
even under the white gloves the immense length of the 
fingers and the proportionate development of the long 
thumb were clearly apparent* No one could have 
guessed that in such a figure there could be much 
elasticity or strength, and yet, at rare moments and 
when younger, King Philip displayed such strength 
and energy and quickness as might well have made 
him the match of ordinary men* As a rule his anger 
was slow, thoughtful, and dangerous, as all Ms schemes 
were vast and far-reaching. 

With the utmost deliberation, and without so much 
as glancing at the courtiers assembled, he advanced to 
the throne and sat down, resting both hands on the 
gilded arms of the great chair; and the Queen took 
her place beside him. But before he had settled him¬ 
self, there was a low sound of suppressed delight in the 
hall, a moving of heads, a brightening of women’s eyes, 
a little swaying of men’s shoulders as they tried to see 
better over those who stood before them; and voices rose 
here and there above the murmur, though not loudly, 
and were joined by others. Then the King’s waxen 
face darkened, though the expression did not change 
and the still eyes did not move, but as if something 
passed between it and the light, leaving it grey in the 
shadow. He did not turn to look, for he knew that his 
brother had entered the throne room and that every eye 
was upon him. 

Don John was all in dazzling wMte— white velvet, 
wMte satin, wMte silk, wMte lacs, white shoes, and 


A MOT BTOEY OF OLD MABEIB 108 

wearing neither sword nor ornament of any Mad* th© 
most faultless vision of young and manly grace that 
ever glided through a womans dream. 

His place was on the King’s right, and he passed along 
the platform of the throne with an easy, unhesitating 
step, and an almost boyish smile of pleasure at tli© 
sounds he heard, and at the Sutter of excitement that 
was in the air, rather to be felt than otherwise perceived. 
Coming up the steps of the throne, he bent one knee be¬ 
fore his brother, who held out Ms ungloved hand for him 
to kiss—and when that was done, he knelt again before 
the Queen, who did likewise. Then, bowing low as he 
passed back before the King, he descended one step and 
took the chair set for him in the place that was for th@ 
royal princes. 

He was alone there, for Philip was again childless at 
Ms fourth marriage, and it was not until long afterwards 
that a son was bom who lived to succeed Mm 5 and 
there were no royal princesses in Madrid, so that Don 
John was Ms brother’s only near blood relation at the 
court, and since he had been acknowledged he would 
have had Ms place by right, even if he had not beaten 
the Moriscoes in the south and won back Granada. 

After Mm came the high Ministers of State and the 
ambassadors in a rich and stately train, led in by Don 
Antonio Peres, the King’s new favourite, a man of pro¬ 
found and evil intelligence, upon whom Philip wan 
to rely almost entirely during ten years, whom hs 
almost tortured to death for Ms crimes, and who in the 
and escaped Mm, outlived Mm, and died a natural 


106 


IN THE PALACE OF THE KINO 


death in Paris, when nearly eighty. With these came 
also the court ladies, the Queen’s Mistress of the Robes? 
and the maids of honour, and with the ladies was Dona 
Ana de la Cerda, Princess of Eboli and Melito and 
Duchess of Pastrana, the wife of old Don Ruy Gomez 
de Silva, the Minister, It was said that she ruled her 
husband, and Antonio Perez and the King himself, and 
that she was faithless to all three. 

She was not more than thirty years of age at that 
time, and she looked younger when seen in profile. 
But one facing her might have thought her older from 
the extraordinary and almost masculine strength of her 
small head and face, compact as a young athlete’s, too 
square for a woman’s, with high cheekbones, deep-set 
black eyes and eyebrows that met between them, and 
a cruel red mouth that always curled a little just when 
she was going to speak, and showed extraordinarily 
perfect little teeth, when the lips parted. Yet she was 
almost beautiful when she was not angry or in a hurt¬ 
ful mood. The dark complexion was as smooth as &> 
perfect peach, and tinged with warm colour, and her 
eyes could be like black opals, and no woman in Spain 
or Andalusia could match her for grace of figure and 
lightness of step. 

Others came after in the long train. Then, last of 
all, at a little distance from the rest, the jester entered, 
affecting a very dejected air. He stood still a while 
on the platform, looking about as if to see whether a 
seat had been reserved for him, and then, shaking his 
tod sadly, he crouched down, a heap of scarlet velvet 


A IX)YE STOBY OF OLD MADBID 107 

with, a man’s face, just at Don John’s feet, and turning' 
a little towards him, so as to watch Ms eyes* But Don 
John would not look at him, and was surprised that ha 
should put himself there, having just been dismissed 
with a sharp reprimand for bringing women’s tnes® 
sages. 

The ceremony, if it can be called by that name, b©*- 
gan almost as soon as all were seated. At a sign from 
the King, Don Antonio Perea rose and read out a docu- 
ment which he had brought in Ms hand, it was a sort 
of throne speech, and set forth briefly, in very measured 
terms, the results of the long campaign against the 
Moriscoes, according Mgh praise to the army in gen« 
oral, and containing a few congratulatory phrases ad¬ 
dressed to Don John himself. The audience of nobles 
listened attentively, and whenever the leader’s name 
occurred, the suppressed flutter of enthusiasm ran 
through the hall like a breeze that stirs forest leaves 
in summer; but when the King was mentioned the 
silence was dead and unbroken. Don John sat quite 
still, looking down a little, and now and then hi® 
colour deepened perceptibly. The speech did not hint 
at any reward or further distinction to be conferred 
on him. 

When Feres had flnished reading, he paused a mo¬ 
ment, and the hand that held the paper fell to Ms side. 
Then he raised Ms voice to a Mgher key. 

“God save Ms Majesty Don Philip Second!” ha 
cried, u Long live the King l 99 

The courtiers answered the chear, but Moderately, 


108 


IN THE PALACE OP THE KIN® 


m a matter of course, and without enthusiasm, repeat* 
lug it three times* But at the last time a single 
woman’s voice, high and clear above all the rest, cried 
out other words. 

64 God save Don John of Austria! Long live Don 
John of Austria !” 

The whole multitude of men and women was stirred 
at once, for every heart was in the cheer, and in an 
instant, courtiers though they were, the King was for- 
gotten, the time, the place, and the cry went up all at 
once, full, long and loud, shaming the one that had 
gone before it. 

King Philip’s hands strained at the arms of his great 
chair, and he half rose, as if to command silence ; and 
Don John, suddenly pale, had half risen, too, stretch¬ 
ing out his open hand in a gesture of deprecation, while 
the Queen watched him with timidly admiring eye% 
and the dark Princess of Eboli’s dusky lids drooped 
to hide her own, for she was watching him also, but 
with other thoughts. For a few seconds longer, the 
cheers followed each other, and then they died away 
to a comparative silence. The dwarf rocked him¬ 
self, his head between his knees, at Don John’s 
feet. 

44 God save the Fool!” he cried softly, mimicking 
the cheer, and he seemed to shake all over, as he sat 
huddled together, swinging himself to and fro. 

But no one noticed what he said, for the King had 
risen to his feet as soon as there was silence. He spoke 
in a muffled tone that made his words hard to under- 


A LOTS STOBY OF OLD MADRID 1Q9 

stand, and those who knew Mm best saw that he was 
very angry* The Princess of Eboli’s red lips curled 
scornfully as she listened, and unnoticed she exchanged 
a meaning glance with Antonio Perez \ for he and she 
were allies, and often of late they had talked long 
together, and had drawn sharp comparisons between 
the King and his brother, and the plan they had made 
was to destroy the King and to crown Don John of 
Austria in his place; but the woman’s plot was deeper, 
and both were equally determined that Don John 
should not marry without their consent, and that if h© 
did, his marriage should not hold, unless, as was prob&» 
ble, his young wife should fall ill and die of a sickness 
unknown to physicians. 

All had risen with the King, and he addressed Don 
John amidst the most profound silence. 

“My brother,” he said, “your friends have taken 
upon themselves unnecessarily to use the words w© 
would have used, and to express to you their enthusb 4 
asm for your success in a manner unknown at th© 
court of Spain. Our one voice, rendering you the 
thanks that are your due, can hardly give you great 
satisfaction after what you have heard just now. Yet 
we presume that the praise of others cannot altogether 
take the place of your sovereign’® at such a moment, 
and we formally thank yon for the admirable perform¬ 
ance of the task entrusted to you, promising that before 
long your services shall be required for an even mor© 
arduous undertaking. It is not in our power to con» 
fer upon you any personal distinction or public ©file© 


110 IK THE PALACE OP THE KING 

higher than yell already hold, as our brother, and as 
High Admiral of Spain; but we trust the day is not 
far distant when a marriage befitting your rank may 
place you on a level with kings.” 

Don John had moved a step forward from his place 
and stood before the King, who, at the end of his short 
speech, put his long arms over his brother’s shoulders, 
and proceeded to embrace him in a formal manner by 
applying one cheek to his and solemnly kissing the air 
behind Don John’s head, a process which the latter 
imitated as nearly as he could. The court looked on 
in silence at the ceremony, ill satisfied with Philip’s 
cold words. The King drew back, and Don John 
returned to his place. As he reached it the dwarf 
jester made a ceremonious obeisance and handed him a 
glove which he had dropped as he came forward. As 
he took it he felt that it contained a letter, which made 
a slight sound when his hand crumpled it inside the 
glove. Annoyed by the fool’s persistence, Don John’s 
eyes hardened as he looked at the crooked face, and 
almost imperceptibly he shook his head. But the 
dwarf was as grave as he, and slightly bent his own, 
clasping his hands in a gesture of supplication. Don 
John reflected that the matter must be one of im« 
portance this time, as Adonis would not otherwise 
have incurred the risk of passing the letter to him 
under the eyes of the King and the whole court. 

Then followed the long and tedious procession of the 
court past the royal pair, who remained seated, while 
all the rest stood up, including Don John himself, to 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 111 

whom a master of ceremonies presented the persons 
unknown to him, and who were by far the more 
numerous. To the men, old and young, great or in® 
significant, he gave his hand with frank cordiality. 
To the women he courteously bowed his head. A full 
hour passed before it was over, and still he grasped the 
glove with the crumpled letter in his hand, while the 
dwarf stood at a little distance, watching in case it 
should fall; and as the Duchess Alvarea and the 
Princess of Eboli presented the ladies of Madrid to 
the young Queen, the Princess often looked at Don 
John and often at the jester from beneath her half- 
dropped lids. But she did not make a single mistake 
of names nor of etiquette, though her mind was much 
preoccupied with other matters. 

The Queen was timidly gracious to every one; but 
Philip’s face was gloomy, and his fixed eyes hardly 
seemed to see the faces of the courtiers as they passed 
before him, nor did he open his lips to address a word 
to any of them, though some were old and faithful 
servants of his own and of his father’s. 

In his manner, in his silence, in the formality of the 
ceremony, there was the whole spirit of the Spanish 
dominion. It was sombrely magnificent, and it was 
gravely cruel; it adhered to the forms of sovereignty 
as rigidly as to the outward practices of religion 5 it® 
power extended to the ends of the world, and the most 
remote countries sent their homage and obeisance to its 
&ead 1 and beneath the dark splendour that surrounded 
Its gloomy sovereigns there was passion and hatred and 


112 IK THE PALACE OP THE KUTG 

Intrigue* Beside Don John of Austria stood Antonie 
Perez, and under the same roof with Dolores de 
Mendoza dwelt Ana de la Cerda, Princess of Bboll* 
and in the midst of them all Miguel de Antona, the 
King's fool* 


CHAPTER VH 


Whot the ceremony was over, and every om on the 
platform and steps of the throne moved a little in 
order to make way for the royal personages, making a 
slight momentary confusion, Adonis crept up behind 
Don John, and softly touched his sleeve to attract his 
attention® Don John looked round quickly, and was 
annoyed to see the dwarf there. He did not notice 
the fact that Dona Ana de la Cerda was watching them 
both, looking sideways without turning her head. 

44 It is a matter of importance,” said the jester, in n 
low voice. 44 Read it before supper if you can.” 

Don John looked at him a moment, and turned away 
without answering, or even making a sign that he 
understood. The dwarf met Dona Ana’s eyes, and 
grew slowly pale, till his face was a yellow mask; for 
he feared her. 

The door on the other side of the throne was opened, 
and the King and Queen, followed by Don John, and 
preceded by the Master of Ceremonies, went out. The 
dwarf, who was privileged, went after tl^em with his' 
strange, rolling step, his long arms having dow%and 
swinging irregularly, as if they did not belong to Mm 
body, but were only stuffed things that hung loose fro® 
Mb shoulders. 

m 


114 


IN THE PALACE OE THE KING 


As on all such, state occasions, there were separate 
suppers, in separate apartments, one for the King, 
and one for the ministers of state and the high court¬ 
iers ; thirdly a vast collation was spread in a hall on 
the other side of the throne room for the many nobles 
who were but guests at the court and held no office 
nor had any special privileges. It was the custom at 
that time that the supper should last an hour, after 
which all reentered the throne room to dance, except 
the King and Queen, who either retired to the royal 
apartments, or came back for a short time and remained 
standing on the floor of the hall, in order to converse 
with a few of the grandees and ambassadors. 

The royal party supped in a sombre room of oval 
shape, dark with tapestries and splendid with gold. 
The King and Queen sat side by side, and Don John 
was placed opposite them at the table, of which the 
shape and outline corresponded on a small scale with 
those of the room. Four or five gentlemen, whose 
office it was, served the royal couple, receiving the 
dishes and wines from the hands of the chief butler; 
and he, with two other servants in state liveries, 
waited on Don John. Everything was most exactly 
ordered according to the unchangeable rules of the 
most formal court in Europe, not even excepting that 
of Rome. 

Philip sat in gloomy silence, eating nothing, but oc¬ 
casionally drinking a little Tokay wine, brought with 
infinite precaution from Hungary to Madrid. As he 
said nothing, neither the Queen nor Don John could 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 115 

speak, it being ordained that the King must be the first 
to open his lips. The Queen, however, being young 
and of a good constitution in spite of her almost deli¬ 
cate appearance, began to taste everything that was set 
before her, glancing timidly at her husband, who took 
no notice of her, or pretended not to do so. Don John, 
soldierlike, made a sparing supper of the first thing 
that was offered to him, and then sat silently watching 
the other two. He understood very well that his 
brother wished to see him in private, and was annoyed 
that the Queen should make the meal last longer than 
necessary. The dwarf understood also, and smiled to 
himself in the corner where he stood waiting in case 
the King should wish to be amused, which on that 
particular evening seemed far from likely. But some* 
times he turned pale and his lips twisted a little as if 
he were suffering great pain; for Don John had not yet 
read the letter that was hidden in his glove, and Adonis 
saw in the dark corners of the room the Princess of 
Eboli’s cruel half-closed eyes, and he fancied he heard 
her deep voice, that almost always spoke very sweetly, 
telling him again and again that if Don John did not 
read her letter before he met the King alone that night, 
Adonis should before very long cease to be court jester, 
and indeed cease to be anything at all that 4 eats and 
drinks and sleeps and wears a coat’ — as Dante had 
said. What Dona Ana said she would do, was as good 
as done already, both then and for nine years from that 
time, but thereafter she paid for all her deeds, and 
more too* But this history is not concerned with those 


lit- 22T THE PALACE OP THE KIH0 

matters, being only the story of what happened m one 
night at the old Alcazar of Madrid. 

King Philip sat a little bent in Ms chair, apparently 
staring at a point in space, and not opening his lips 
except to drink. But Ms presence filled the shadowy 
room, his large and yellowish face seemed to be all 
visible from every part of it, and his still eyes domi¬ 
nated everything and every one, except Ms brother. 
It was as if the possession of some supernatural and 
evil being were stealing slowly upon all who were 
there; as if a monstrous spider sat absolutely motion¬ 
less in the midst of its web, drawing everything within 
reach to itself by the unnatural fascination of its lid¬ 
less sight—as if the gentlemen in waiting were but 
helpless files, circling nearer and nearer, to be caught 
at last in the meshes, and the Queen a bright butterfly* 
and Don John a white moth, already taken and soon 
to be devoured. The dwarf thought of this in hk 
corner, and Ms blood was chilled, for three queens lay 
in their tombs in three dim cathedrals, and she who 
sat at table was the fourth who had supped with the 
royal Spider in Ms web. Adonis watched Mm, and 
the penetrating fear he had long known crept all 
through Mm like the chill that shakes a man before a 
marsh fever, so that he had to set Ms teeth with all 
Ms might, lest they should chatter audibly. As he 
looked, he fancied that in the light of the waxen 
torches the King’s face turned by degrees to an ashy 
grey, and then more slowly to a shadowy yellow again* 
m he had seen a spider’s ugly body change colour 


A M»VE STOUT OF OLB MADEIB Ilf 

when the Hies came nearer, and change again when on© 
was entangled in the threads. He thought that the 
faces of all the people in the room changed, too, and 
that he saw in them the look that only near and certain 
death can bring, which is in the eyes of him who goes 
out with bound hands, at dawn, amongst other men who 
will see the rising sun shine on his dead face. That 
fear came on the dwarf sometimes, and he dreaded 
always lest at that moment the King should call to 
him and bid him sing or play with words. But thin 
had never happened yet. There were others in th& 
room, also, who knew something of that same terror, 
though in a less degree, perhaps because they knew 
Philip less well than the jester, who was almost always 
near him. But Don John sat quietly in his place, no 
more realizing that there could be danger than if h© 
had been charging the Moors at the head of his cavalry* 
or fighting a man hand to hand with drawn swords. 

But still the fear grew, and even the gentlemen and 
the servants wondered, for it had never happened that 
the King had not at last broken the silence at supper, 
so that all guessed trouble near at hand, and peril for 
themselves. The Queen grew nervous and ceased to 
eat. She looked from Philip to Don John, and more 
than once seemed about to speak, but recollected ner» 
self and checked the words, tier hand shook and her 
thin young nostrils quivered now and then® Evil wai 
gathering in the air, and she felt it approaching, though 
ihe could not tell whence it came. A sort of tension 
look possession of every one, like what people feel if 


118 IN THE PALACE OF THE KING 

southern countries when the southeast wind blows* 
or when, almost without warning, the fresh sea-breeze 
dies away to a dead calm and the blackness rises like 
a tide of pitch among the mountains of the coast, send¬ 
ing up enormous clouds above it to the pale sky, and 
lying quite still below; and the air grows lurid quickly, 
and heavy to breathe and sultry, till the tempest breaks 
in lightning and thunder and drenching rain. 

In the midst of the brewing storm the dwarf saw 
only the Spider in its web, illuminated by the un¬ 
earthly glare of his own fear, and with it the fright¬ 
ened butterfly and the beautiful silver moth, that had 
never dreamed of danger. He shrank against the 
hangings, pressing backwards till he hurt his crooked 
back against the stone wall behind the tapestry, and 
could have shrieked with fear had not a greater fear 
made him dumb. He felt that the King was going to 
speak to him, and that he should not be able to answer 
him. A horrible thought suddenly seized him, and he 
fancied that the King had seen him slip the letter into 
Don John’s glove, and would ask for it, and take it, 
and read if — and that would be the end. Thrills of 
torment ran through him, and he knew how it must 
feel to lie bound on the rack and to hear the execu¬ 
tioner’s hands on the wheel, ready to turn it again at 
the judge’s word. He had seen a man tortured once, 
and remembered his face. He was sure that the King 
must have seen the letter, and that meant torment and 
death, and the King was angry also because the court 
had cheered Don John. It was treason* and he knew 


A 1*0YE STORY OF OLD MADRID 119 

it— yet it would have been certain death, too, to 
refuse to obey Dona Ana, There was destruction on 
either side, and he could not ©scape. Don John had 
not read the writing yet, and if the King asked for it, 
he would probably give it to him without a thought, 
unopened, for he was far too simple to imagine that 
any one could accuse him of a treasonable thought, and 
too boyishly frank to fancy that his brother could he 
jealous of him — above all, he was too modest to sup® 
pose that there were thousands who would have risked 
their lives to set him on the throne of Spain, H@ 
would therefore give the King the letter unopened, 
unless, believing it to be a love message from some 
foolish woman, he chose to tear it up unread. The 
wretched jester knew that either would mean his own 
disgrace and death, and he quivered with agony from 
head to foot. 

The lights moved up and down before his sight, the 
air grew heavier, the royal Spider took gigantic pro® 
portions, and its motionless eyes were lurid with eviL 
It was about to turn to him % he felt it turning already* 
and knew that it saw him in Ms comer, and meant to 
draw Mm to it, very slowly. In a moment he should 
fall to the door a senseless heap, out of deadly fear—it 
would be well if Ms fear really killed him, but he could 
not even hope for that. His hands gripped the hang¬ 
ings on each side of him as he shrank and crushed his 
deformity against the wall. Surely the King was turn¬ 
ing Ms head. Yes—he was right. He felt his short 
hair rising on Ms scalp, md unearthly sounds streamed 


120 IS THE PALACE OF THE KING 

in Ms ears. The terrible eyes were upon Mm now, 
but he could not move hand or foot—if he had been 
nailed to the wall to die, he could not have been so 
helpless. 

Philip eyed him with cold curiosity, for it was not 
an illusion, and he was really looking steadily at 
the dwarf. After a long time, his protruding lower 
lip moved two or three times before he spoke. The 
jester should have come forward at his first glance, to 
answer any question asked him. Instead, his colour¬ 
less lips were parted and tightly drawn back, and his 
teeth were chattering, do what he could to close them. 
The Queen and Don John followed the King’s gaze 
and looked at the dwarf in surprise, for his agony was 
painfulty visible. 

“ He looks as if he were in an ague,” observed Philip^ 
as though he were watching a sick dog. 

He had spoken at last, and the fear of silence was 
removed. An audible sigh of relief was heard in the 
room. 

46 Poor man! ” exclaimed the Queen. M I am afraid 
he is very ill! ” 

44 It is more like — ” began Don John, and then h© 
checked himself, for he had been on the point of saying 
that the dwarf’s fit looked more like physical fear than 
illness, for he had more than once seen men afraid of 
death; but he remembered the letter in his glove and 
thought the words might rouse Philip’s suspicions. 

44 What was your Serene Highness about to say?” 
enquired the King, speaking coldly, and laying stress 


A LOV® STORY OF OLD MADRID tM 

formal title which lie had himself given Don 
John the right to use. 

66 As your Majesty says, it is Tory like the nhill of 
a fever,” replied Don John, 

But it was already passing, for Adonis was not & 
natural coward, and the short conversation of the royal 
personages had broken the spell that held him, or had at 
least diminished its power. When he had entered the 
room he had been quite sure that no one except the 
Princess had seen him slip the letter into Don John’s 
glove. That quieting belief began to return, his jaw 
became steady, and be relaxed his hold on the tapes- 
tries, and even advanced half a step towards the 
table. 

“ And now he seems better,” said the King, in evident 
surprise. 64 What sort of illness is this. Fool ? If you 
cannot explain it, you shall be sent to bed, and the 
physicians shall practise experiments upon your vila 
body, until they find out what your complaint is, for 
the advancement of their learning.” 

They would advance me more than their science, 
Sire,” answered Adonis, in a voice that still quaked 
with past fear, 44 for they would send me to paradise 
at once and learn nothing that they wished to know.” 

44 That Is probable,” observed Don John, thought® 
fully, for he had little belief in medicine generally^ 
and none at all in the present case. 

44 May it please your Majesty,” said Adonis, taking* 
heart a little, 44 there are musk melons on the table® 8 * 
tt Well* what of that?” asked the King® 


122 


IN THE PALACE OP THE KING 


“ The sight of melons on your Majesty’s table almost 
kills me,” answered the dwarf. 

“ Are you so fond of them that you cannot bear to 
see them? You shall have a dozen and be made to 
eat them all. That will cure your abominable greedi¬ 
ness.” 

“ Provided that the King had none himself, I would 
eat all the rest, until I died of a surfeit of melons like 
your Majesty’s great-grandsire of glorious and happy 
memory, the Emperor Maximilian.” 

Philip turned visibly pale, for he feared illness and 
death as few have feared either. 

“ Why has no one ever told me that?” he asked in 
a muffled and angry voice, looking round the room, 
so that the gentlemen and servants shrank back a little. 

No one answered his question, for though the fact 
was true, it had been long forgotten, and it would have 
been hard for any of those present to realize that the 
King would fear a danger so far removed. But the 
dwarf knew him well. 

64 Let there be no more melons,” said Philip, rising 
abruptly, and still pale. 

Don John had suppressed a smile, and was taken 
unawares when the King rose, so that in standing up 
instantly, as was necessary according to the rules, his 
gloves slipped from his knees, where he had kept them 
during supper, to the floor, and a moment passed before 
he realized that they were not in his hand. He was 
still in his place, for the King had not yet left his own, 
being engaged in saying a Latin grace in a low tone* 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 123 

He crossed himself devoutly, and an instant later 
Don John stooped down and picked up what he had 
dropped. Philip could not but notice the action, and 
his suspicions were instantly roused. 

“What have you found?” he asked sharply, his 
eyes fixing themselves again. 

“ My gloves, Sire. I dropped them.” 

“ And are gloves such precious possessions that Don 
John of Austria must stoop to pick them up himself? ” 

Adonis began to tremble again, and all his fear 
returned, so that he almost staggered against the wall. 
The Queen looked on in surprise, for she had not been 
Philip’s wife many months. Don John was uncon® 
cerned, and laughed in reply to the question. 

“It chances that after long campaigning these are 
the only new white gloves Don John of Austria pos¬ 
sesses,” he answered lightly. 

“Let me see them,” said the King, extending his 
hand, and smiling suddenly. 

With some deliberation Don John presented one of 
the gloves to his brother, who took it and pretended 
to examine it critically, still smiling. He turned it 
over several times, while Adonis looked on, gasping 
for breath, but unnoticed. 

“The other,” said Philip calmly. 

Adonis tried to suppress a groan, and his eyes were 
Sxed on Don John’s face. Would he refuse? Would 
tie try to extract the letter from the glove under hk 
brother’s eyes? Would he give it up? 

Don John did none of those things, and there was 


124 nr THE PALACE OF THE KESG 

not the least change o£ colour in his cheek. Withorn 
any attempt at concealment he took the letter from 
its hiding-place, and held out the empty glove with 
his other hand. The King drew back, and his face 
grew very grey and shadowy with anger. 

“What have you in your other hand?” he asked 
in a voice indistinct with passion. 

“A lady’s letter, Sire,” replied Don John, unmovedo 

“ Give it to me at once I ” 

“ That, your Majesty, is a request I will not grant 
to any gentleman in Spain.” 

He undid a button of his close-fitting doublet, thrust 
the letter into the opening and fastened the button 
again, before the King could speak. The dwarfs 
heart almost stood still with joy, *— he could have 
crawled to Don John’s feet to kiss the dust from hk 
shoes. The Queen smiled nervously, between fear of 
the one man and admiration for the other. 

“Your Serene Highness,” answered Philip, with & 
frightful stare, “is the first gentleman of Spain who 
has disobeyed his sovereign.” 

“ May I be the last, your Majesty,” said Don John* 
with a courtly gesture which showed well enough 
that he had no intention of changing his mind. 

The King turned from him coldly and spoke to 
Adonis, who had almost got his courage back a sec- 
ond time. 

“You gave my message to his Highness, Fool?” ha 
asked, controlling his voice, but not quite steadying 
it to a natural tone. 


Jk LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID X2i 

44 Yes, Sire.” 

44 Go and tell Don Antonio Perez to come at one© 
to me in my own apartments.” 

The dwarf bent till his crooked back was high above 
his head, and he stepped backwards towards the door 
through which the servants had entered and gone 
out. When he had disappeared, Philip turned and, 
as if nothing had happened, gave his hand to the 
Queen to lead her away with all the prescribed cour¬ 
tesy that was her due. The servants opened wide 
the door, two gentlemen placed themselves on each 
side of it, the chief gentleman in waiting went before, 
and the royal couple passed out, followed at a little 
distance by Don John, who walked unconcernedly, 
swinging his right glove carelessly in his hand as 
he went. The four gentlemen walked last. In the 
hall beyond, Mendoza was in waiting with the guards. 

A little while after they were all gone, Adonis 
came back from his errand, with his rolling step, 
and searched for the other glove on the floor, wher© 
the King had dropped it. He found it there at onca 
and hid it in his doubtlet. No one was in the room, 
for the servants had disappeared as soon as they 
could. The dwarf went quickly to Don John’s place, 
took a Venetian goblet full of untasted wine that 
stood there and drank it at a draught. Alien ne 
patted himself comfortably with his other hand and 
looked thoughtfully at the slices of musk melon that 
lay in the golden dish flanked by other dishes full 
of late grapes and pears. 


126 


m THE PAXsACE OF THE KIHG 


46 God bless the Emperor Maximilian! ” be said 
in a devout tone. “ Since be could not live for ever® 
it was a special grace of Providence that bis death 
should be by melons.” 

Then be went away again, and softly closed the 
door behind him, after looking back once more to 
be sure that no one was there after all, and perhaps, 
as people sometimes do on leaving a place where 
they have escaped a great danger, fixing its details 
unconsciously in his memory, with something almost 
akin to gratitude, as if the lifeless things had run 
the risk with them and thus earned their lasting 
friendship. Thus every man who has been to sea 
knows bow, when bis vessel bas been bove to in a 
storm for many hours, perhaps during more than 
one day, within a few miles of the same spot, the sea 
there grows familiar to him as a landscape to a lands¬ 
man, so that when the force of the gale is broken at 
last and the sea subsides to a long swell, and the 
ship is wore to the wind and can lay her course one© 
more, be looks astern at the grey water be bas 
learned to know so well and feels "iiat be should 
know it again if be passed that waj, and be leaves 
it with a faint sensation of regret. So Adonis, the 
jester, left the King’s supper-room that night, de¬ 
voutly thanking Heaven that the Emperor Maximilian 
bad died of eating too many melons more than a 
hundred and fifty years ago. 

Meanwhile, the King bad left the Queen at 
door of her apartments, and bad dismissed Dcm Johm 


A LOVE STORY OF OIJ> MADRID If? 

la angry silence by a gesture only, as be went on to 
bis study. And when there, he sent away his gen« 
tlemen and bade that no one should disturb him, 
and that only Don Antonio Perez, the new favourite, 
should be admitted. The supper had scarcely lasted 
half an hour, and it was still early in the evening 
when he found himself alone and was able to reflect 
upon what bad happened, and upon what it would 
be best to do to rid himself of his brother, the hero 
and idol of Spain. 

He did not admit that Don John of Austria could 
be allowed to live on, unmolested, as if he had not 
openly refused to obey an express command and m 
if he were not secretly plotting to get possession of 
the throne. That was impossible. During mor® than 
two years, Don John’s popularity, not only with the 
people, but with the army, which was a much more 
serious matter, had been steadily growing; and with 
it and even faster than it, the King’s jealousy and 
hatred had grown also, till it had become a matter 
of common discussion and jest among the soldiers 
when their officers were out of hearing. 

But though it was without real cause, it was not 
without apparent foundation. As Philip slowly paced 
the floor of his most private room, with awkward, 
ungainly steps, stumbling more than once against a 
cushion that lay before his great armchair, he saw 
clearly before him the whole dimensions of that 
power to which he had unwillingly raised his brother. 
The time had been short, but the means used h&d 


128 m THE PA&ACE OF THE KWB 

been great, for they had been intended to be means 
of destruction, and the result was tremendous when 
they turned against him who used them. Philip was 
old enough to have been Don John’s father, and he 
remembered how indifferent be had been to the grace* 
ful boy of twelve, whom they called Juan Quixada, 
when he had been brought to the old court at Valla¬ 
dolid and acknowledged as a son of the Emperor 
Charles. Though he was his brother, Philip had 
not even granted him the privilege cf living in the 
palace then, and had smiled at the idea that ha 
should be addressed as a Serene Highness.” Even 
as a boy, he had been impatient to fight; and Philip 
remembered how he was always practising with the 
sword or performing wild feats of skill and strength 
upon half-broken horses, except when he was kept 
to his books by Dona Magdalena Quixada, the only 
person in the world whom he ever obeyed without 
question. Every one had loved the boy from the 
first, and Philip’s jealousy had begun from that; for 
he, who was loved by none and feared by all, craved 
popularity and common affection, and was filled with 
bitter resentment against the world that obeyed him 
but refused Mm what he most desired. 

Little more than ten years had pissed since the boy 
had come, and he had neither died a natural death nor 
fallen in battle, and was grown up to young manhood, 
and was by far the greatest man in Spain. He had 
been treated as an inferior, the people had set him up 
m a god. He had been sent out to command es> 


a mm sTOBf m ® mn 19 

that ha might fail and be dlsgraasd 5 but ha 
bad shown deeper wisdom than his eiders, and had 
coma back covered with honour; and now k# had been 
commanded to fight out the final battle of Spain with 
the Moriscoes, in the hope that he might die in the 
fight, since he could not be dishonoured, and instead 
he had returned in triumph, having utterly subdued 
the fiercest warriors in Europe, to reap the ripe harvest 
of his military glory at an age when other men were in 
the leading-strings of war’s school, and to be acclaimed 
a hero as well as a favourite by a court that could 
hardly raise a voice to cheer for its own King, Ten 
years had done all that. Ten more, or even five, might 
do the rest. The boy could not be without ambition, 
and there could be no ambition for Mm of which the 
object should be less than a throne. And yet no word 
had been breathed against him, —his young reputation 
was charmed, as his life was. In vain Philip had bidden 
.Antonio Perez and the Princess of Eboli use all their 
wits and skill to prove that he was plotting to seize the 
crown. They answered that ha loved a girl of the 
court, Mendoza’s daughter, and that besides war, for 
war’s sake, he cared for nothing in the world but 
Dolores and his adopted mother. 

They spoke the truth, for they had reason to know 
It, having used every means in their power to find out 
whether he oould be induced to quarrel with Philip and 
enter upon a civil war, which could have had but one 
Issue, since all Spain would have risen to proclaim hi® 
king. He had been tempted by questions, and led Into 


ISO XH THE PALACE OP THE KXHG 

discussions in which it seemed certain that he must give 
them some hope. But they and their agents lost heart 
before the insuperable obstacle of the young prince’s 
loyalty. It was simple, unaffected, and without ex~ 
aggeration. He never drew his sword and kissed the 
blade, and swore by the Blessed Virgin to give his last 
drop of blood for his sovereign and his country. He 
never made solemn vows to accomplish ends that looked 
impossible. But when the charge sounded, he pressed 
his steel cap a little lower upon his brow, and settled 
himself in the saddle without any words and rode at 
death like the devil incarnate ; and then men followed 
him, and the impossible was done, and that was alL 
Or he could w£Rt and watch, and manoeuvre for weeks, 
until he had his foe in his hand, with a patience that 
would have failed his officers and his men, had they not 
seen him always ready and cheerful, and fully sure that 
although he might fail twenty times to drive the foe 
into the pen, he should most certainly succeed in the 
end, ■—- as he always dicL 

Philip paced the chamber in deep and angry thoughte 
If at that moment any one had offered to rid him of 
his brother, the reward would have been ready, and 
worth a murderer’s taking. But the King had long 
cherished the scheme of marrying Don John to Queen 
Mary of Scotland, — whose marriage with Both well 
could easily be annulled — in order that his presump, 
tuous ambition might be satisfied, and at the same time 
that he might make of his new kingdom a powerful 
aHy of Spain against Elizabeth of England. It was foi 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID IS! 

tiMs reason that he had long determined to prevent his 
brother’s marriage with Maria Dolores de Mendoza* 
Perez and Dona Ana de la Cerda, on the other hand, 
feared that if Don John were allowed to marry the girl 
he so devotedly loved, he would forget everything for 
her, give up campaigning, and settle to the insignifi¬ 
cance of a thoroughly happy man. For they knew the 
world well from their own point of view. Happiness 
is often like sadness, for it paralyzes those to whose lot 
it falls; but pain and danger rouse man’s strength of 
mind and body* 

Yet though the King and his treacherous favourite 
had diametrically opposite intentions, a similar thought 
had crossed the minds of both, even before Doe 
J ohn had ridden up to the palace gate late on that 
afternoon, from his last camping ground outside the 
city walls. Both had reasoned that whoever was to 
influence a man so straightforward and fearless must 
have in his power and keeping the person for who® 
Don John would make the greatest sacrifice of his life; 
and that person, as both knew, was Dolores herself. 
Yet when Antonio Perez entered Philip’s study, neither! 
had guessed the other’s thought. 


CHAPTER VIII 


The court had been still at supper when Adonis had 
summoned Don Antonio Perez to the King, and the 
Secretary, as he was usually called, had been obliged 
to excuse his sudden departure by explaining that the 
King had sent for him unexpectedly. He was not 
even able to exchange a word with Dona Ana, who was 
seated at another of the three long tables and at some 
distance from him. She understood, however, and 
looked after him anxiously. His leaving was not a sig 
nal for the others, but it caused a little stir which 
unhinged the solemn formality of the supper. The 
Ambassador of the Holy Roman Empire presently pro¬ 
tested that he was suffering from an unbearable head* 
ache, and the Princess of Eboli, next to whom he was 
seated, begged him not to stand upon ceremony, since 
Perez was gone from the room, but to order his coach 
at once ; she found it hot, she said, and would be glad 
to escape. The two rose together, and others followed 
their example, until the few who would have stayed 
longer were constrained to imitate the majority. 
When Mendoza, relieved at last from his duty, went 
towards the supper-room to take the place that was kept 
lor him at one of the tables, he met Dona Ana in th® 


A LOTS STOEY OF OLD UApp.|p 13| 

private corridor through which the officers and ladies 
of the household passed to the state apartments. He 
stood still, surprised to see her there. 

w The supper is over,” she said, stopping also, and 
trying to scrutinize the hard old face by the dim light 
of the lamps. 44 May I have a word with you, General ? 
Let us walk together to your apartments.” 

u It is far, Madam,” observed Mendoza, who sus¬ 
pected at once that she wished to see Dolores. 

“ I shall be glad to walk a little, and breathe the 
air,” she answered. 44 Your corridor has arches open to 
the air, I remember.” She began to walk, and he was 
obliged to accompany her. 44 Yes,” she continued 
indifferently, 44 we have had such changeable weather 
to-day ! This morning it almost snowed, then it 
rained, then it began to freeze, and now it feels like 
summer t I hope Dolores has not taken cold ? Is she 
ill ? She was not at court before supper.” 

44 The weather is indeed very changeable,” replied 
the General, who did not know what to say, and con¬ 
sidered it beneath his dignity to lie except by order of 
the King. 

44 Yes—yes, I was saying so, was I not ? But Do¬ 
lores—is she ill? Please tell me.” The Princess 
spoke almost anxiously. 

44 No, Madam, my daughters are well, so far as I 
know.” 

44 But then, my dear General, it is strange that you 
should not have sent an excuse for Dolores’ not appear® 
ingo That is the rule, you know. May I ask why 


134 


m THE PALACE OF THE KING 


you ventured to break it ? ” Her tone grew harder by 
degrees. 

“ It was very sudden,” said Mendoza, trying to put 
her off. “I hope that your Grace will excuse my 
daughter.” 

“What was sudden?” enquired Dona Ana coldly® 
M You say she was not taken ill.” 

“Her —her not coming to court.” Mendoza hesh 
tated and pulled at his grey beard as they went along. 
“She fully intended to come,” he added, with perfect 
truth. 

Dona Ana walked more slowly, glancing sideways at 
his face, though she could hardly see it except when 
they passed by a lamp, for he was very tall, and sh© 
was short, though exquisitely proportioned. 

“ I do not understand,” she said, in a clear, metallic 
voice. “ I have a right to an explanation, for it is 
quite impossible to give the ladies of the court who 
live in the palace full liberty to attend upon the Queen 
©r not, as they please. You will be singularly fortu¬ 
nate if Don Antonio Perez does not mention the matter 
to the King.” 

Mendoza was silent, but the words had their effect 
upon him, and a very unpleasant one, for they contained 
a threat. 

“ You see,” continued the Princess, pausing as they 
reached a flight of steps which they would have to 
ascend, “every one acknowledges the importance of 
your services, and that you have been very poorly 
rewarded for them. But that is in a degree jom 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 185 

own fault, for you have refused to make friends when 
you might, and you have little interest with the 
King.” 

“ I know it,” said the old soldier, rather bitterly. 
“ Princess,” he continued, without giving her time to 
say more, “ this is a private matter, which concerns 
only me and my daughter. I entreat you to overlook 
the irregularity and not to question me further. I 
will serve you in any way in my power — ” 

46 You cannot serve me in any way,” answered Doha 
Ana cruelly. 44 1 am trying to help you,” she added, 
with a sudden change of tone. 44 You see, my dear 
General, you are no longer young. At your age, with 
your name and your past services, you should have been 
a grandee and a rich man. You have thrown away 
your opportunities of advancement, and you have con- 
tented yourself with an office which is highly honour¬ 
able— but poorly paid, is it not? And there are 
younger men who court it for the honour alone, and 
who are willing to be served by their friends.” 

44 Who is my successor?” asked Mendoza, bravely 
controlling his voice though he felt that he was ruined. 

The skilful and cruel woman began to mount the 
steps in silence, in order to let him suffer a few mo¬ 
ments, before she answered. Reaching the top, she 
spoke, and her voice was soft and kind. 

44 No one,” she answered, “and there is nothing to 
prevent you from keeping your post as long as you 
like, even if you become infirm and have to appoint a 
d$pntj““but if there were any serious of mm- 


186 


IK THE PALACE OF THE KUm 


plaint, like this extraordinary behaviour of Dolores—* 
why, perhaps —” 

She paused to give her words weighty for she knew 
their value. 

44 Madam,” said Mendoza, 44 the matter I keep from 
you does not touch my honour, and you may know it, 
so far as that is concerned. But it is one of which 
I entreat you not to force me to speak.” 

Dona Ana softly passed her arm through his. 

I am not used to walking so fast,” she said, by way 
of explanation. 44 But, my dear Mendoza,” she went 
on, pressing his arm a little, 44 you do not think that I 
shall let what you tell me go further and reach any ©ns 
else-— do you ? How can I be of any use to you, if yon 
have no confidence in me? Are we n«t relatives? 
You must treat me as I treat you.” 

Mendoza wished that he could. 

45 Madam,” he said almost roughly, u I have shut nsy 
daughter up in her own room and bolted the door, and 
to-morrow I intend to send her to a convent, and there 
she shall stay until she -changes her mind, for I will not 
change min® ” 

44 Oh!” ejaculated DoSa Ana, with a long intona¬ 
tion, as if grasping the position of affairs by degrees, 
64 1 understand,” she said, after a long time. 44 But 
then you and I are of the same ©pinion, my dear 
friend. Let us talk about this.” 

Mendoza did not wish to talk of the matter at all, 
mud said nothing, as they slowly advanced. They had 
at last reached the passage that ended at hk door, and 


A L0Y1! SXOBY OF OLD M A&M& 18? 

h© slackened his pace still more, obliging his com* 
panion, whose arm was still in his, to keep pace with 
Mm. The moonlight no longer shone in straight 
through the open embrasures, and there was a dim 
twilight in the corridor. 

“You do not wish Dolores to marry Don John of 
Austria, then,” said the Princess presently, in very low 
tones. “ Then the King is on your side, and so am L 
But I should like to know your reason for objecting to 
§uch a very great marriage. ” 

“ Simple enough, Madam. Whenever it should please 
Ms Majesty’s policy to marry his brother to a royal per¬ 
sonage, such as Queen Mary of Scotland, the first mar¬ 
riage would be proved null and void, because the King 
would command that it should be so, and my daughter 
would be a dishonoured woman, fit for nothing but a 
convent.” 

“Do you call that dishonour?” asked the Princess 
thoughtfully. “Even if that happened, you kww 
that Don John would probably not abandon Dolores. 
He would keep her near Mm—and provide for her 
generously—” . 

“ Madam ! ” cried the brave old soldier, interrupting 
her in sudden and generous anger, “neither man nor 
woman shall tell me that my daughter could ever fall 
to that I” 

She saw that she had made a mistake, and pressed 
Ms arm soothingly. 

“ Pray, do not be angry with me, my dear friend. 1 
wm thinking what the world would say—no, let mm 



138 IN THE PALACE OF THE KIM® 

speak ! I am quite of your opinion that Dolores should, 
be kept from seeing Don John, even by quiet force if 
necessary, for they will certainly be married at the very 
first opportunity they can find. But you cannot do 
such things violently, you knoWo You will make a 
scandal. You cannot take your daughter away from 
court suddenly and shut her up in a convent without 
doing her a great injury# Do you not see that? Peo¬ 
ple will not understand that you will not let her marry 
Don John—-1 mean that most people would find it 
hard to believe* Yes, the world is bad, I know ; what 
san one do? The world would say—promise me that 
you will not be angry, dear General I You can gnom 
what the world would say.’* 
a I see — I see ! ” exclaimed the old man, in sudden 
terror for his daughter’s good name. ** How wise you 
are! ” 

Yes,” answered Dona Ana, stopping at ten paces 
from the door, am wise, for I am obliged to be# 
Now, if instead of locking Dolores into her room two 
m three hours ago, you had come to me, and told me 
the truth, and put her under mj protection, for our 
common good, I would have made it quite impossible 
for her to exchange a word with Don John, and I would 
have taken such good care of her that instead of gossip¬ 
ing about her, the world would have said that she wm 
high in favour, and would have begun to pay court to 
her# You know that I have the power to do that.” 

64 How very wise you are Iexclaimed Mantel 
with more emphasis* 


A LOVB STOBY OF OLD MABBOT IS® 

«* Very well. Will yon let me take her with me 
bow, my dear friend? I will console her a little, for 
I daresay she has been crying all alone in her room, 
poor girl, and I can keep her with me till Don John 
goes to Yillagarciao Then we shall see.** 

Old Mendoza was a Yery simple-hearted man, as brave 
men .often are, and a singularly spotless life spent 
chiefly in war and austere devotion had left Mm more 
than ignorant of the ways of the world. He had few 
friends, chiefly old comrades of Ms own age who did 
not live in the palace, and he detested gossip. Had h© 
known what the woman was with whom he w*as speak¬ 
ing, he would have risked Dolores’ life rather than give 
her into the keeping of Dona Ana. But to Mm, the 
latter was simply the wife of old Don Buy Gomez da 
Silva, the Minister of State, and she was the head of 
the Queen’s household. No one would have thought 
of repeating the story of a court intrigue to Mendoza, 
but it was also true that every one feared Doha Ana, 
whose power was boundless, and no one wished to b© 
heard speaking ill of her. To Mm, therefor©, her 
proposition seemed both wise and kind. 

«I am very grateful,” he said, with some emotion, 
for he believed that she was- helping Mm to save Ms 
fortune and his honour, as was perhaps really the 
case, though she would have helped Mm to lose both 
with equally persuasive skill could his ruin have served 
her. 44 Will you come in with me, Princess ? 99 he asked, 
beginning to move towards the door, 
u Yes, Taka me to her room and leave me with her/' " 


Mf$> m TMM FALAm OF TSM 'M3MB 

^Indeed, I would rather not me her myself tUs 
mrening,” said Mendoza, feeling Ms anger -still not 
very far from the surface. **You will be able to gprnk 
more wisely than I should.” 

54 1 daresay/ 5 answered Dona Ana thoughtfully. M If 
you went with me to her, there might fee angry words 
again, and that would make it much harder for me* 
If you will leave me at the door of her rooms, and then 
go away, I will promise to manage the rest. You &w 
not sorry that you have told me, now, are you, ay 
dear friend?’* 

44 1 am most grateful to you. I shall do all I can to 
he of service to you, even though you mid that it wm 
not in my power to serve you."’ 

44 1 was annoyed/’ said Dona Ana sweetly. ^ 1 did 
not mean it — please forgive me.” 

They reached the door, and m she withdrew her 
hand from his arm, he took it and ceremoniously kissed 
her gloved fingers, while she smiled graciously. Then 
he knocked three times, and presently the 
of Eudaldo’s slippers was heard within, and the old 
servant opened sleepily. On seeing the Princess enter 
first, he stiffened himself in a military fashion, for he 
had been a soldier and had fought under Mendosa 
when both were younger. 

* s Eudaldo/* said the General, In the stem tone he 
always used when giving orders, 44 her Excellency the 
Princess of Eboli will take Dona Dolores to her own 
apartments this evening. Tell the maid to follow late 
with whatever my daughter needs, and do you accom¬ 
pany the ladies with a candle.” 


A LOW BTOMY OF OLD MADMIB 141 

But at this Dona Ana protested strongly, Tbsm 
wm moonlight, there were lamps, there was light every¬ 
where* she said. She needed no one, Mendoza, who 
had no man-servant in the house but Eudaldo, and 
eked out his meagre establishment by making use of his 
halberdiers when he needed any one, yielded liter very 
little persuasion* 

H Open the door of my daughter^ apartments,” h& 
said to Eudaldo. “Madam/* he said, turning to the 
Princess, * I have the honour to wish, you good-nights 
1 am your Grace’s most obedient servant. 1 must 

return to my duty/’ 

“ Good-night, my dear Mend/® inswar&d Bona Ans* 
nodding graciously. 

Mendoza bowed low, and went out again, Eudaldo 
' ©losing the door behind him. He would not be at lib¬ 
erty until the last of the grandees had gone home, and 
the time he had consumed in accompanying the Prim¬ 
ness was just what he could have spared for Ms sup- 
pgr. She gave m short sigh of relief as she heard Ms 
spurred heels and long sword on the stone pavement. 
He was gone? leaving Dolores In her power, and §hs 
meant to use that power to the utmost* 

Eudaldo shuHed silently across the hall, to the other 
door, and she followed him. He drew the bolt, 

“Wait here,” she said quietly. *‘I wish to see 
Bona Dolores alone.” 

* Her ladysMp is in the farther room? Excellency/"' 
said the servant, bowing and standing back. 

She entered md doe$d the sbotr, mA ludaMo 


142 IN THE PALACE OP THE KING 

returned to his big chair, to doze until she should come 
out. 

She had not taken two steps in the dim room, when 
a shadow flitted between her and the lamp, and it was 
almost instantly extinguished. She uttered an excla 
mation of surprise and stood still. Anywhere save in 
Mendoza’s house, she would have run back and tried to 
open the door as quickly as possible, in fear of her life, 
for she had many enemies, and was constantly on her 
guard. But she guessed that the shadowy figure she 
had seen was Dolores. She spoke, without hesitation, 
in a gentle voice. 

64 Dolores! Are you there?” she asked. 

A moment later she felt a small hand on her arm. 

44 Who is it?” asked a whisper, which might have 
come from Dolores’ lips for all Dona Ana could tell. 

She had forgotten the existence of Inez, whom she 
had rarely seen, and never noticed, though she knew 
that Mendoza had a blind daughter. 

44 It is I — the Princess of Eboli,” she answered in 
the same gentle tone. 

64 Hush ! Whisper to me.” 

44 Your father has gone back to his duty, my dear — 
you need not be afraid.” 

44 Yes, but Eudaldo is outside — he hears everything 
when he is not asleep. What is it, Princess? Why 
are you here?” 

44 1 wish to talk with you a little,” replied Doha 
Ana, whispering now, to please the girl. 44 Can we not 
get a light? Why did you put out the lamp? I 
thought you were in another room.” 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MAD RID 143 

14 1 was frightened. I did not know who you were. 
We can talk in the dark, if you do not mind. I will 
lead you to a chair. I know just where everything is 
in this room.** 

The Princess suffered herself to be led a few steps, 
and presently she felt herself gently pushed into a seat. 
She was surprised, but realizing the girl’s fear of her 
father, she thought it best to humour her. So far Inez 
had said nothing that could lead her visitor to suppose 
that she was not Dolores. Intimate as the devoted 
sisters were, Inez knew almost as much of the Princess 
as Dolores herself; the two girls were of the same 
height, and so long as the conversation was carried on 
in whispers, there was no possibility of detection by 
speech alone e The quick-witted blind girl reflected 
that it was strange if Dona Ana had not seen Dolores, 
who must have been with the court the whole evening, 
and she feared some harm. That being the case, her 
first impulse was to help her sister if possible, but so 
long as she was a prisoner in Dolores’ place, she could 
do nothing, and she resolved that the Princess should 
help her to escape. 

Dona Ana began to speak quickly and fluently in 
the dark. She said that she knew the girl’s position, 
and had long known how tenderly she loved Don John 
of Austria, and was loved by him. She sympathized 
deeply with them both, and meant to do all in her 
power to help them. Then she told how she had 
missed Dolores at court, that night. 

Inez started involuntarily and drew her breath 


144 


m THE PALACE OF THE KING 


quickly, but Dona Ana thought it natural that 
Dolores should give some expression to the disap¬ 
pointment she must have felt at being shut up a 
prisoner on such an occasion, when all the court was 
assembled to greet the man she loved. 

Then the Princess went on to tell how she had met 
Mendoza and had come with him, and how with great 
difficulty she had learned the truth, and had under¬ 
taken Dolores’ care for a few days; and how Mendoza 
had been satisfied, never suspecting that she really sym¬ 
pathized with the lovers. That was a state secret, but 
of course Dolores must know it. The King privately 
desired the marriage, she said, because he was jealous 
of his brother and wished that he would tire of win¬ 
ning battles and live quietly, as happy men do. 

“Don John will tell you, when you see him,” she 
continued. 44 1 sent him two letters this evening. 
The first he burned unopened, because he thought it 
was a love letter, but he has read the second by this 
time. He had it before supper.” 

44 What did you write to him?” asked Inez, whis¬ 
pering low. 

44 He will tell you. The substance was this: If he 
would only be prudent, and consent to wait two days, 
and not attempt to see you alone, which would make a 
scandal, and injure you, too, if any one knew it, the 
King would arrange everything at his own pleasure, 
and your father would give his consent. You have 
not seen Don John since he arrived, have you?” She 
asked the question anxiously. 


A LOYES STORY OF OLD MADRID 


145 


64 Oh no! ” answered the blind girl, with con« 
fiction. 44 1 have not seen him. I wish to Heaven 
I had!” 

44 1 am glad of that,” whispered the Princess. 44 But 
if yon will come with me to my apartments, and stay 
with me till matters are arranged — well — I will not 
promise, because it might be dangerous, but perhaps 
you may see him for a moment.” 

‘‘Really? Do you think that is possible?” In the 
dark Inez was smiling sadly. 

44 Perhaps. He might come to see me, for instance* 
or my husband, and I could leave you together & 
moment.” 

44 That would be heaven! ” And the whisper came 
from the heart. 

44 Then come with me now, my dear, and I will d© 
my best,” answered the Princess. 

“Indeed I will! But will you wait one moment 
while I dress ? I am in my old frock -— it is hardly fit 
to be seen.” 

This was quite true; but Inez had reflected that 
dressed as she was she could not pass Eudaldo and 
be taken by him for her sister, even with a hood over 
her head. The clothes Dolores had worn before put¬ 
ting on her court dress were in her room, and Dolores’ 
hood was there, too. Before the Princess could answer, 
Inez was gone, closing the door of the bedroom behind 
her. Dona Ana, a little taken by surprise again, was 
fain to wait where she was, in the dark, at the risk of 
hurting herself against the furniture. Then it struck 

it 


£46 m THE PALACE OF THE KIM 

her that Dolores must be dressing in the dark, for ft© 
light had come from the door as it was opened and 
shut. She remembered the blind sister then, and she 
wondered idly whether those who lived continually 
with the blind learned from them to move easily in 
the dark and to do everything without a light. The 
question did not interest her much, but while she was 
thinking of it the door opened again. A skirt and a 
bodice are soon changed. In a moment she felt her 
hand taken, and she rose to her feet* 

u I am ready, Princess. I will open the door if yon 
will come with me. I have covered my head and 
face,” she added carelessly, though always whispering, 
“ because I am afraid of the night air.” 

66 1 was going to advise you to do it in any case, my 
dear. It is just as well that neither of us should be 
recognized by any one in the corridors so far from my 
apartments.” 

The door opened and let in what seemed a flood 
of light by comparison with the darkness. The Prin¬ 
cess went forward, and Eudaldo got upon his legs a® 
quickly as he could to let the two ladies out, without 
looking at them as they crossed the hall. Inez fob 
lowed her companion’s footfall exactly, keeping one 
step behind her by ear, and just pausing before passing 
out. The old servant saw Dolores’ dsess and Dolores' 
hood, which he expected to see, and no more suspected 
anything than he had when, as he supposed, Ine& 
gone out earlier. 

Ii@s herself had o, far more difficult part to jit®** 


Ji, love; story of old madkib 


14T 


form tlian her sisters. Dolores had gone out alone, 
and no one had watched her beyond the door, and 
Dolores had eyes, and could easily enough pretend that 
she could not see. It was another matter to be blind 
and to play at seeing, with a clever woman like the 
Princess at one’s elbow, ready to detect the slightest 
hesitation. Besides, though she had got out of the 
predicament in which it had been necessary to place 
her, it was quite impossible to foresee what might 
happen when the Princess discovered that she had been 
deceived, and that catastrophe must happen sooner or 
later, and might occur at any moment. The Princess 
walked quickly, too, with a gliding, noiseless step that 
was hard to follow. Fortunately Inez was expected to 
keep to the left of a superior like her companion, and 
was accustomed to taking that side when she went 
anywhere alone in the palace. That made it easier, 
but trouble might come at one of the short flight® 
of steps down and up which they would have to pass 
to reach the Princess’s apartments. And then, once 
there, discovery must come, to a certainty, and then, 
she knew not what. 

She had not run the risk for the sake of being shut 
up again. She had got out by a trick in order to help 
her sister, if she could find her, and in order to be at 
liberty the first thing necessary was to elude her com¬ 
panion. To go to the door of her apartments would 
he fatal, but she had not had time to think what she 
should do. She thought now, with all the concentre 
Moa of her ingenuity. On© ohano© presented itsalf tc 


MS 2EH' OTB PA3DA0B OF THK EIS 

her mind at once* They must pass the pillar feekfaS 
which was the concealed entrance to the Moorish gal 
lery above the throne room, and it wm not at all likely 
that Dona Ana should know of it* existence, for aha 
never came to that part of tne palace, and if Inei 
lagged a little way behind, before they reached the 
spot, she could slip noiselessly behind the pillar and 
disappear- She could always trust herself not to 
attract attention when she had to open and shut & 
door. 

The Princess spoke rarely, making little remarks 
now and then that hardly required an answer, but to 
which Inez answered in monosyllables, speaking in a 
low voice through the thick veil she had drawn over 
her mantle under her hood, on pretence of fearing the 
cold. She thought it a little safer to speak aloud in 
that way, lest her companion should wonder at hsi- 
total silence. 

She knew exactly where she was, for she touched 
each corner as she passed, and counted ’her steps 
between one well-known point and the next, and she 
allowed the Fiincess to gain a little as they neared 
the last turning before reaching the place where she 
meant to make the attempt. She hoped in this way, 
by walking quite noiselessly, and then stopping sud¬ 
denly just before she reached the pillar, to gain half 
a dozen paces, and the Princess would take three men 
before she stopped also. Inez had noticed that most 
people take at least three steps before they stop, if 
any one calls them suddenly when they are walking 


A mr® STORY OF ©LB MADRXB 14$ 

fast* It seems to need as much to balance the body 
when its speed is checked. She noticed everything 
that could be heard. 

She grew nervous. It seemed to her that her com¬ 
panion was walking more slowly, as if not wishing to 
leave her any distance behind. She quickened her 
own pace again, fearing that she had excited suspicion. 
Then she heard the Princess stop suddenly, and she 
had no choice but to do the same. Her heart began 
to beat painfully, as she saw her chance slipping from 
her. She waited for Dona Ana to speak, wondering 
what was the matter. 

w I have mistaken the way, 55 said the Princess, in % 
tone of annoyance. “I do not know where I am. 
We had better go back and turn down the main stair¬ 
case, even if we meet some one. You see, I never 
come to this part of the palace.” 

“I think we are on the right corridor,” said Inas 
nervously. “ Let me go as far as the corner. There 
is a light there, and I can tell yon in a moment 55 In 
her anxiety to seem to see, she had forgotten for fcha 
moment to muffle her voice in her veil. 

They went on rapidly, and the Dona Ana did what 
most people do when a companion offers to examine 
the way, — she stood still a moment and hesitated^ 
looking after the girl, and then followed her with the 
slow step with which a person walks who is certain 
of having to turn back. Inez walked lightly to the 
corner, hardly touching the wall, turned by the corner, 
and was out ©£ sight in a moment. Th@ Princes© 


££Q IN THE PALACE OF THE KING 

walked faster, for though she believed that Dolores 
trusted her, it seemed foolish to give the girl a chance. 
She reached the corner, where there was a lamp, — and 
she saw that the dim corridor was empty to the very 

end 


CHAPTER IX 


The Princess was far from suspecting, even then, 
that she had been deceived about her companion’s 
identity as well as tricked at the last, when Inez 
escaped from her. She would have laughed at the idea 
that any blind person could have moved as confidently 
as Inez, or could afterwards have run the length of 
the next corridor in what had seemed but an instant, 
for she did not know of the niche behind the pillar, 
and there were pilasters all along, built into the wall. 
The construction of the high, springing vault that 
covered the whole throne room required them for its 
solidity, and only the one under the centre of the 
arch was built as a detached pillar, in order to give 
' access to the gallery. Seen from either end of the 
passage, it looked exactly like the rest, and few persons 
would have noticed that it differed from them, even in 
passing it. 

Dona Ana stood looking in the direction she supposed 
the girl to have taken. An angry flush rose in her 
cheek, she bit her lips till they almost bled, and at 
last she stamped once before she twned away, so that 
her little slipper sent a sharp echo along the corridor. 
Pursuit was out of the question, of course, though she 
could run like a deer; some one might meet her at 
m 


152 


IN THE PALACE OF THE KING 


any turning, and in an hour the whole palace would 
know that she had been seen running at full speed 
after some unknown person., It would be bad enough 
if she were recognized walking alone at night at a 
distance from her own apartments. She drew her veil 
over her face so closely that she could hardly see her 
way, and began to retrace her steps towards the princi¬ 
pal staircase, pondering as to what she should say to 
Mendoza when he discovered that she had allowed nis 
daughter to escape. She was a woman of manlike in¬ 
telligence and not easily unbalanced by a single reverse, 
however, and before she had gone far her mind began 
to work clearly. Dolores, she reasoned, would do one 
of two things. She would either go straight to Don 
John’s apartments, wait for him, and then tell him ner 
story, in the hope that he would protect her, or she 
would go to the Duchess Alvarez and seek protection 
there. Under no circumstances would she go down 
to the throne room without her court dress, for her 
mere appearance there, dressed as she was, would 
produce the most profound astonishment, and could 
do her no possible good. And as for her going to 
the Duchess, that was impossible, too. If she had 
run away from Dona Ana, she had done so because 
the idea of not seeing Don John for two days was 
intolerable, and she meant to try and see him at once. 
The Duchess was in all probability with the Queen, in 
the latter’s private apartments, as Dolores would know* 
On the whole, it seemed far more likely that she 
had done the rashest thing that had suggested itself 


A LOTS STORY OF OLD MADRID 1M 

to her, and had gone directly to the man she loved, — 
a man powerful enough to protect her against all 
comers, at the present time, and quite capable of fac* 
ing even the King’s displeasure. 

But the whole object of Dona Ana’s manoeuvre had 
been to get possession of Dolores’ person, as a means 
of strongly influencing Don John’s actions, in order 
thus to lead him into a false position from which he 
should not be able to escape without a serious quarrel 
with King Philip, which would be the first step 
towards the execution of the plot elaborated by Dona 
A nr, and Perez together* Anything which could pro¬ 
duce an open difference between the brothers would 
serve to produce two parties in Spain, of which the one 
that would take Don John’s side would be by far the 
stronger. His power would be suddenly much increased, 
an organized agitation would be made throughout the 
country to set him on the throne, and his popularity, 
like Caesar’s, would grow still more, when he refused 
the crown, as he would most certainly do. But just 
then King Philip would die suddenly of a fever, or 
a cold, or an indigestion, as the conspirators thought 
best. There would be no direct male heir to the 
throne but Don John himself, the acknowledged son 
of the Emperor Charles; and even Don John would 
then be made to see that he could only serve his 
country by ruling it, since it cried out for his rule 
and would have no other. It was a hard and danger¬ 
ous thing to lead King Philip; it would be an easy 
matter to direct King John. An honest and unsus* 


154 IN the palace of the king 

picious soldier would be but as a child in such skilful 
hands. Dona Ana and Perez would rule Spain as they 
pleased, and by and by Don John should be chosen 
Emperor also by the Electors of the Holy Roman 
Empire, and the conspirators would rule the world, 
as Charles the Fifth had ruled it. There was no limit 
to their ambition, and no scruple would stand between 
them and any crime, and the stake was high and worth 
many risks. 

The Princess walked slowly, weighing iu. the balance 
all there was to lose or gain. When she reached the 
head of the main staircase, she had not yet altogether 
decided how to act, and lest she should meet some 
one she returned, and walked up and down the 
lonely corridor nearly a quarter of an hour, in deep 
thought. Suddenly a plan of action flashed upon 
her, and she went quickly on her way, to act at 
once. 

Don John, meanwhile, had read the letter she had 
sent him by the dwarf jester. When the King had 
retired into his own apartments, Don John found him¬ 
self unexpectedly alone. Mendoza and the guard had 
filed into the antechamber, the gentlemen in waiting, 
being temporarily at liberty, went to the room leading 
out of it on one side, which was appropriated to their use. 
The sentries were set at the King’s door, and Mendoza 
marched his halberdiers out again and off to their quar¬ 
ters, while the servants disappeared, and the hero of 
the day was left to himself. He smiled at his own sur¬ 
prise, recollecting that he should have ordered his own 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 


m 


attendants to be in waiting after the supper, whereas 
he had dismissed them until midnight. 

He turned on his heel and walked away to find a 
quiet place where he might read the paper which had 
suddenly become of such importance* and paused at a 
Moorish niche, where Philip had caused a sacred pic¬ 
ture to be placed, and before which a hanging silver 
lamp shed a clear light. 

The small sheet of paper contained but little writing, 
There were half a dozen sentences in a clear hand* 
without any signature — it was what has since then 
come to be called an anonymous letter. But it con¬ 
tained neither any threat, nor any evidence of spite ; it 
set forth in plain language that if, as the writer sup¬ 
posed, Don John wished to marry Dolores de Mendoza, 
it was as necessary for her personal safety as for the 
accomplishment of his desires, that he should make no 
attempt to see her for at least two days, and that, if he 
would accept this advice, he should have the support of 
every noble and minister at court, including the very 
highest, with the certainty that no farther hindrance 
would be set in his way; it added that the letter he 
had burned had contained the same words, and that the 
two flowers had been intended to serve as a signal which 
it was now too late to use. It would be sufficient if he 
told the bearer of the present letter that he agreed to 
take the advice it contained. His assent in that way 
would, of course, be taken by the writer to mean that 
he promised, on his word. That was all. 

He did not like the last sentence, for it placed him i& 


156 


m TBM PALACE OF THE Km® 


an awkward position, as a man of honour, since he had 
already seen Dolores, and therefore could not under 
any circumstances agree to take advice contrary to 
which he had already acted. The most he could now 
say to the dwarf would be that he could give no answer 
and would act as carefully as possible. For the rest, 
the letter contained nothing treasonable, and was not 
at all what he had expected and believed it to be. It 
appeared to be written in a friendly spirit, and with 
the exception of his own brother and Mendoza, he was 
not aware that he had an enemy in Spain, in which he 
was almost right. Nevertheless, bold and frank as he 
was by nature, he knew enough of real warfare to dis¬ 
trust appearances. The writer was attached to the 
King’s person, or the letter might have been composed, 
and even written in an assumed hand, by the King him¬ 
self, for Philip was not above using the methods of a 
common conspirator. The limitation of time set upon 
his prudence was strange, too. If he had not seen her 
and agreed to the terms, he would have supposed that 
Dolores was being kept out of his way during those 
two days, whereas in that time it would be possible to 
send her very far from Madrid, or to place her secretly 
in a convent where it would be impossible to find her. 
It flashed upon him that in shutting up Dolores that 
evening Mendoza had been obeying the King’s secret 
orders, as well as in telling her that she was to be taken 
to Las Huelgas at dawn. No one but Philip could 
have written the letter —- only the dwarf’s fear of 
Philip’s displeasure could have made him so anxious 


A LOVE STOBY OF OLD MABBXB 


m 


that it should be read at onee. It was all as clear as 
daylight now, and the King and Mendoza were acting 
together. The first letter had been brought by a 
woman, who must have got out through the window of 
the study, which was so low that she could almost have 
stepped from it to the terrace without springing. She 
had watched until the officers and the servants had gone 
out and the way was clear. Nothing could have been 
simpler or easier. 

He would have burnt the letter at the lamp before 
the picture, had he not feared that some one might se© 
him do it, and he folded it again and thrust it back 
under his doublet. His face was grave as he turned 
away, for the position, as he understood it, was a very 
desperate one. He had meant to send Dolores to Vil - 
lagarcia, but it was almost impossible that such a mat" 
ter should remain unknown, and in the face of th© 
King’s personal opposition, it would probably ruin 
Quixada and his wife. He, on his side, might send 
Dolores to a convent, under an assumed name, and 
take her out again before she was found, and marry 
her. But that would be hard, too, for no places were 
more directly under the sovereign’s control than con¬ 
vents and monasteries. Somewhere she must go, for 
she could not possibly remain concealed in his study 
more than three or four hours. 

Suddenly he fancied that she might be in danger 
even now. The woman who had brought the first 
letter had of course left the window unfastened. She., 
or the King, or any one, might get in by that way, and 


im 


m THE PALACE OF THE KING 


Dolores was alone. They might have taken her away 
already. He cursed himself for not having looked to 
see that the window was bolted. The man who had 
won great battles felt a chill at his heart, and he walked 
at the best of his speed, careless whether he met any 
one or not. But no place is more deserted than the 
more distant parts of a royal palace when there is a 
great assembly in the state apartments. He met no 
one on his way, and entered his own door alone. Ten 
minutes had not elapsed since the King had left the 
supper-room, and it was almost at that moment that 
Dona Ana met Mendoza. 

Dolores started to her feet as she heard his step in 
the next room and then the key in the lock, and as he 
entered her hands clasped themselves round his neck, 
and her eyes looked into his. He was very pale when 
he saw her at last, for the belief that she had been 
stolen away had grown with his speed, till it was an 
intolerable certainty. 

“ What is it ? What has happened ? ” she cried anx» 
iously. “ Why are you so white ? Are you ill ? ” 

44 1 was frightened,” he said simply. 44 1 was afraid 
you were gone. Look here ! ” 

He led her to the window, and drew the curtain to 
one side. The cool air rushed in, for the bolts were 
unfastened, and the window was ajar. He closed it 
and fastened it securely, and they both came back. 

44 The woman got out that way,” he said, in explana¬ 
tion. 44 1 understand it all now —and some one might 
have come back/* 


A LOYE STORY OP OLD MADRID If® 

He told her quietly what had happened, and showed 
her the letter, which she read slowly to the end before 
she gave it back to him. 

“ Then the other was not a love letter, after all,” she 
said^ with a little laugh that had more of relief in it 
than amusement, though she did not know it herself. 

“No,” he answered gravely. “I wish I had read it, 
I should at least have shut the window before leaving 
you ! ” 

Careless of any danger to herself, she sat looking up 
into his anxious face, her clasped hands lying in his 
and quite covered by them, as he stood beside her. 
There was not a trace of fear in her own face, nor indeed 
of any feeling but perfect love and confidence. Under 
the gaze of her deep grey eyes his expression relaxed 
for a moment, and grew like hers, so that it would 
have been hard to say which trusted the other the 
more. 

“ What does anything matter, since we are together 
now ? ” she asked. “ I am with you, can anything 
happen to me ? ” 

“Not while I am alive,” he answered, but the look 
of anxiety for her returned at once, “ You cannot 
stay here.” 

“No — you will take me away. I am ready-—” 

“ I do not mean that. You cannot stay in this room, 
nor in my apartments. The King is coming here in a 
few minutes. I cannot tell what he may do — he may 
insist on seeing whether any one is here, listening, for 
he is very suspicious, and he only comes here because 


160 


IF THE PALACE OF THE KIF© 


he does not even trust his own apartments. He may 
wish to open the door — ” 

“ I will lock it on the inside. Yon can say that it 
is locked, and that you have not the key. If he calls 
men to open it, I will escape by the window, and hide 
in the old sentry-bos. He will not stay talking with 
you till morning I ” 

She laughed, and he saw that she was right, simply 
because there was no other place where she could be 
even as safe as where she was. He slowly nodded as 
she spoke. 

“You see,” she cried, with another little laugh of 
happy satisfaction, “you must keep me here whether 
you will or not! You are really afraid —- frightened 
like a boy I You! How men would stare if they 
could see you afraid ! ” 

“ It is true,” he answered, with a faint smile. 

“ But I will give you courage ! ” she said. “ The King 
cannot come yet. Perez can only have just gone to 
him, you say. They will talk at least half an hour, 
and it is very likely that Perez will persuade him not 
to come at all, because he is angry with you. Perhaps 
Perez will come instead, and he will be very smooth 
and flattering, and bring messages of reconciliation, 
and beg to make peace. He is very clever, but I do 
not like his face. He makes me think of a beautiful 
black fox! Even if the King comes himself, we have 
more than half an hour. You can stay a little while 
with me — then go into your room and sit down and 
read, as if you were waiting for him. You can read 


A LOVE STORY OE OLD MADRID 


181 


any letter over, and I will sit here and say all the 
things I wrote, over and over again, and you will 
know that I am saying them — it will be almost as if 
I were with you, and could say them quite close to 
you — like this —* I love you ! 99 

She had drawn his hand gently down to her while 
she was speaking, and she whispered the last words 
into his ear with a delicate little kiss that sent a thrill 
straight to his heart. 

“You are not afraid any more now, are you?” she 
asked, as she let him go, and he straightened himself 
suddenly as a man drawing back from something he 
both fears and loves. 

He opened and shut his hands quickly two or three 
times, as some nervous men do, as if trying to shake 
them clear from a spell, or an influence. Then he 
began to walk up and down, talking to her. 

“ I am at my wit’s end,” he said, speaking fast and 
not looking at her face, as he turned and turned again. 
“I cannot send you to Villagarcia — there are things 
that neither you nor I could do, even for each other, 
things you would not have me do for you, Dolores. It 
would be ruin and disgrace to my adopted mother and 
Quixada — it might be worse, for the King can call 
anything he pleases high treason. It is impossible to 
take you there without some one knowing it — can I 
carry you in my arms ? There are grooms, coachmen, 
servants, who will tell anything under examination 
— under torture ! How can I send you there ? ” 

“I would not go,” answered Dolores quietly. 
u 


162 


m THE PALACE OF THE KING 


“ I cannot send yon to a convent, either,” he went 
on, for he had taken her answer for granted, as lovers 
do who trust each other. “You would be found in a 
day, for the King knows everythingo There is only 
one place, where I am master — ” 

He stopped short, and grew very pale again, looking 
at the wall, but seeing something very far away. 

“ Where ? ” asked Dolores. “ Take me there 1 Oh, 
take me where you are master -— where there is no 
king but you, where we can be together all our lives, 
and no one can come between us ! ” 

He stood motionless, staring at the wall, contem¬ 
plating in amazement the vastness of the temptation 
that arose before him. Dolores could not understand, 
but she did what a loving women does when the man 
she loves seems to be in a great distress. She came 
and stood beside him, passing one arm through his and 
pressing it tenderly, without a word. There are times 
when a man needs only that to comfort him and give 
him strength. But even a woman does not always 
know them. 

Very slowly he turned to her, almost as if he were 
trying to resist her eyes and could not. He took his 
arm from hers and his hands framed her face softly, 
and pushed the gold hair gently back on her forehead. 
But she grew frightened by degrees, for there was a 
look in his eyes she had never seen there, and that had 
never been in them before, neither in love nor in battle. 
His hands were quite cold, and his face was like a 
beautiful marble, but there was an evil something in it* 


A LOTS STORY OF OLD MADRID 16S 

as in a fallen angel’s, a defiance of God, an irresistible 
strength to do harm, a terror such as no man would 
dare to meet. 

“You are worth it,” he said in a tone so different 
from his natural voice that Dolores started, and would 
have drawn back from him, but could not, for his hands 
held her, shaking a little fiercely. 

“What? What is it?” she asked, growing more 
and more frightened — half believing that he was 
going mad. 

“ You are worth it,” he repeated. “ I tell you, you 
are worth that, and much more, and the world, and 
all the world holds for me, and all earth and heaven 
besides. You do not know how I love you — you can 
never guess — ” 

Her eyes grew tender again, and her hands went up 
and pressed his that still framed her face. 

“ As I love you — dear love ! ” she answered, won¬ 
dering, but happy. 

“No— no t now. I love you more. You cannot 
guess—-you shall see what I will do for your sake, and 
then you will understand.” 

He uttered an incoherent exclamation, and his eyes 
dazzled her as he seized her in his arms and pressed her 
to him so that she could have cried out. And suddenly 
he kissed her, roughly, almost cruelly, as if he meant 
to hurt her, and knew that he could. She struggled 
in his arms, in an unknown terror of him, and her 
senses reeled. 

Then all at once, he let her go, and turned from her 


164 


m THU PALACE OF THE KING 


quickly, leaving her half fainting, so that she leaned 
against the wall and pressed her cheek to the rough 
hanging. She felt a storm of tears, that she could not 
understand, rising in her heart and eyes and throat. 
He had crossed the room, getting as far as he could 
from her, and stood there, turned to the wall, his arms 
bent against it and his face buried in his sleeve. He 
breathed hard, and spoke as if to himself in broken 
words. 

“Worth it? My God! What are you not 
worth ? ” 

There was such a ring of agony and struggling in 
his voice that Dolores forgot herself and stood up 
listening, suddenly filled with anxiety for him again. 
He was surely going mad. She would have gone to 
him again, forgetting her terror that was barely past, 
the woman’s instinct to help the suffering man over¬ 
ruling everything else. It was for his sake that she 
stayed where she was, lest if she touched him he should 
lose his senses altogether. 

“Oh, there is one place, where I am master and 
lord ! ” he was saying. “ There is one thing to do —» 
one thing — ” 

“ What is the thing ? ” she asked very gently. “ Why 
are you suffering so ? Where is the place ? ” 

He turned suddenly, as he would have turned in his 
saddle in battle at a trumpet call, straight and strong, 
with fixed eyes and set lips, that spoke deliberately. 

“ There is Granada,” he said. “ Do you understand 
now ? ” 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 


165 


“No,”she answered timidly. “I do not understand, 
Granada ? Why there ? It is so far away — ” 

He laughed harshly. 

“You do not understand? Yes, Granada is far 
awa y — far enough to be another kingdom — so far 
that John of Austria is master there —so far that with 
his army at his back he can be not only its master, but 
its King? Do you understand now? Do you sea 
what I will do for your sake?” 

He made one step towards her, and ska was very 
white. 

“ I will take you, and go back to-morrow. Do you 
think the Moors are not men, because I beat them ? I 
tell you that if I set up my standard in Granada and 
call them to me, they will follow me — if I lead them 
to the gate of Madrid. Yes —and so will more than 
half the Spanish army, if I will! But I do not want 
that — it is not the kingdom — what should I care for 
that ? Could I not have taken it and held it ? It is 
for you, dear love — for your sake only — that we may 
have a world of our own —a kingdom in which you 
are queen! Let there be war —why should I care? 
I will set the world ablaze and let it burn to its own 
ashes, but I will not let them take you from me, neither 
now, nor ever, while I am alive I ” 

He came quickly towards her now, and she could not 
draw back, for the wall was behind her. But she 
thrust out her hands against him to keep him off. The 
gesture stopped him, just when he would have taken 
her in his aims. 


i m 


IN THE PALACE OP THE KING 


44 No, no !” she cried vehemently. 44 Yon must no& 
say such things, you must not think such thoughts l 
You are beside yourself, and you will drive me mad, 
too!” 

44 But it will be so easy —- you shall see — ” 

She cut his words short. 

14 It must not be easy, it must not be possible, it must 
not be at all! Do you believe that I love you and that 
I would let you do such deeds ? Oh, no ! That would 
not be love at all — it would be hate, it would be 
treason to you, and worse treason than yours against 
your brother!” 

The fierce light was sinking from his face. He had 
folded his arms and stood very still, listening to her. 

44 You! ” she cried, with rising energy. 44 You, the 
brave soldier, the spotless man, the very soul of honour 
made flesh and blood! You, who have but just come 
back in triumph from fighting your King’s enemies — 
you against whom no living being has ever dared to 
breathe a slander or a slighting word. Oh, no, no, 
no, no I I could not bear that you should betray your 
faith and your country and yourself, and be called 
traitor for my sake I Not for ten lives of mine shall 
you ruin yours. And not because I might love you 
less if you had done that deed. God help me! I think 
Y should love you if you committed any crime! The 
shame is the more to me— I know it, I am only a 
woman! But rather than let my love ruin you, make 
ft traitor ©f you and lose you in this world and the 
mj soul shall go first —HI©, soul, honour,, ©very- 


A LOVE STOEY OF OLD MADEID 


167 


t&ing! You shall not do it l You think that jm 
Ioy© me more than I love you, but you do not. For to 
save you as you are, I love you so dearly that I will 
leave you —leave you to honour, leave you to your 
King, leave you to the undying glory of the life you 
have lived, and will live, in memory of my love I ” 

The splendid words rang from her lips like a voice 
from heaven, and her eyes were divinely lightened. For 
they looked up, and not at him, calling Heaven to wit¬ 
ness that she would keep her promise. As her open 
hand unconsciously went out, he took it tenderly, and 
felt her fingers softly closing on his own, as if she 
would lift him to himself again, and to the clear light 
of her own thoughts. There was silence for a moment, 
44 You are better and wiser than I,” he said, and hk 
tone told her that the madness was past, 

44 And you know that I am right? You see that I 
must leave you, to save you from me?” 

w Leave me—now?” he cried, 54 You only said 
that—you meant me to understand — yon did not 
mean that you would leave me now ? ” 

64 1 do mean it,” she said, in a great effort. 44 It is 
all I can do, to show you how I love you. As long m 
I am in your life you will be ia danger —you will 
sever be safe from yourself—I see it all now! I 
#tand between you and all the world would give you 
— I will not stand between you and honour!” 

She was breaking down, fight as she would against 
the pain. He could say nothing, for ke ©oiM ®m 
believe that ^he w m m mmwt. 


IM THE PAI*A€M OF THE KIM 


u 1 must!” she exclaimed suddenly® 44 It is all 1 
san do for you — it is my life — take it! ” 

The tears broke from her eyes, but she held her head 
high, and let them fall unheeded. 

Take it! ” she repeated. 44 It is all I have to give 
for yours and your honour. Good-by— oh, love, I 
love you so dearly! Once more, before 1 go — ” 

She almost fell into his arms as she buried her face 
on his shoulder and clasped his throat as she was wont. 
He kissed her hair gently, and from time to time her 
whole frame shook with the sobs she was choking 
down® 

64 It kills me,” she said in a broken voice. 44 1 can~ 
aot — I thought I was so strong ! Oh, I am the most 
miserable living woman in the world! ” 

She broke away from him wildly and threw herself 
upon a chair, turning from him to its cushion and hiding 
her face in her hands, choking, pressing the furious 
tears back upon her eyes, shaking from head to foot. 

“ You cannot go I You cannot! ” he cried, falling on 
Ms knees beside her and trying to take her hands in 
Ms® “Dolores — look at me I I will do anything-— 
promise anything—you will believe me I Listen, love 
—I give you my word — I swear before God — ” 

“No — swear nothing — ” she said, between the sob® 
that broke her voice. 

“ But I will! ” he insisted, drawing her hands down 
till she looked at him. “ I swear upon my honour that 
I will never raise my hand against the King — that I 

will defend Mm ? and fight for Mm, and be loyal to 


A L0VB STORY OF OW MABBH5 


109 


whatever k© may do to me — and that even for yon* I 
will never strike a blow ia battle nor speak a word m 
peace that is not all honourable, through and through, 
— even as I have fought and spoken until now f n 
As she listened to Ms words her weeping subsided, 
and her tearful eyes took light and life again. She 
drew him dose, and kissed him on the forehead, 

“I am so glad—so happy !” she cried softly. *1 
should never have had strength to really say goa44tf! 99 


CHAPTER X 


Don Johit smoothed her golden hair* Merer sines 
he had known that he loved her, had she seemed so 
beautiful as then, and his thought tried to hold her as 
she was, that she might in memory be always the same 0 
There was colour in her cheeks, a soft flush of happi¬ 
ness that destroyed all traces of her tears, so that they 
only left her grey eyes dark and tender under the long 
wet lashes. 

“ It was a cruel dream, dear love ! It was not true! w 
Finding him again, her voice was low, and sweet with 
joy. 

He smiled, too, and his own eyes were quiet and 
voung, now that the tempest had passed away, almost 
out of recollection. It had raged but for a few mo¬ 
ments, but in that time both he and she had lived and 
loved as it were through years, and their love had 
grown better and braver. She knew that his word 
was enough, and that he would die rather than break 
it; but though she had called herself weak, and had 
seemed to break down in despair, she would have left 
him for ever rather than believe that he was still in 
danger through her. She did not again ask herself 
whether her sudden resolution had been all for hm 
fsake, and had not formed itself because she dreaded te 

m 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 


171 


think of being bound to one who betrayed his country. 
She knew it and needed no further self-cjuestioning to 
satisfy her. If such a man could have committed 
crimes, she would have hated them, not him, she would 
have pardoned him, not them, she would still have laid 
her hand in his before the whole world, though it 
should mean shame and infamy, because she loved him 
and would always love him, and could never have left 
Kim for her own sake, come all that might. She had 
said it was a shame to her that she would have loved 
Mm still; yet if it had been so, she would have gloried 
in being shamed for his sake, for even then her love 
might have brought him back from the depths of evil 
and made him again for her in truth what he had 
once seemed to the whole world. She could have done 
that, and if in the end she had saved him she would 
have counted the price of her name as very little to 
set against his salvation from himself. She would have 
given that and much more, for her love, as she would 
freely give all for him and even for his memory, if he 
were dead, and if by some unimaginable circumstances 
her ruin before the world could keep his name spotless ? 
and Ms glory unsullied. For there is notMng that a 
true-hearted loving woman will not give and do for 
him she loves and believes and trusts ; and though she 
will give the greatest thing last of all, she will give it 
in the end, if it can save him from infamy and destruc¬ 
tion. For it is the woman’s glory to give, as it is th© 
man’s to use strength in the hour of battle and gentle* 
mess in the day of peace, and to follow honour always. 


Iff nr TBM FALACM OF tbm mm® 

Si Forget it all,” answered Don John presently 
* Forget it, dear s and forgive me for it all.” 

“I can forget it, because it was only a dream,” $&© 
said, “and I have nothing to forgive. Listen to me. 
If it were true — even if I believed that we had not 
been dreaming, you and I, could I have anything to 
forgive you? What?” 

“ The mere thought that I could betray a trust, turn 
against my sovereign and rain my country,” h© an¬ 
swered bravely., and a blush of honest sham© rose in 
his boyish cheeks. 

“It was for me,” said Dolores. 

That should explain all, her heart said. But h® 
was not satisfied, and being a man he began to 
insist. 

“Not even for you should I have thought of it,” he 
said. “ And there is the thought to forgive, if nothing 
else.” 

“ No —you are wrong, love. Because it was for me, 
it does not need my forgiveness. It is different—you 
do not understand yet. It is I who should have never 
forgiven myself on earth nor expected pardon here¬ 
after, if I had let myself be the cause of such deeds, 
if I had let my love stand between you and honour. 
Do you see?” 

“I see,” he answered. “You are very brave and 
kind and good. I did not know that a woman could 
be like you.” 

“A woman could be anything —for you — dar© any¬ 
thing, do anything, sacrifice anything 1 Did I not teU 


A LOYM STOBY O W OjuB MABBXB 


j®u so, long ago? You only half believed me, dear 
— perhaps you do not quite believe me now —■ M 

“ Indeed, indeed I do, with all my soul I I believ® 
you as I love you, as I believe in your love — ” 

46 Yes. Tell me that you do— and tell me that you 
love me! It is so good to hear, now that the bad 
dream is gone.” 

44 Shall I tell you?” He smiled, playing with her 
hand. “How can I? There are so few words in 
which to say so much. But I will tell you this —I 
would give my word for you. Does that sound little ? 
You should know, for you know at what price you 
would have saved my honour a while ago. X believ© 
in you so truly that I would stake my word, and my 
honour, and my Christian oath upon your faith, and 
promise for you before God or man that you will 
always love me as you do to-day.” 

44 You may pledge all three. I will, and I will give 
you all I have that is not God’s — and if that is not 
enough, I will give my soul for yours, if I may, to 
suffer in your stead.” 

She spoke quietly enough, but there was a little 
quaver of true earnestness in her voice, that made each 
word a solemn promise.” 

44 And besides that,” she added, 44 you see how X trust 
you.” 

She smiled again as she looked at him, and knew 
how safe she was, far safer now than when she had first 
come with him to the door. Something told her that 
he had mastered himself -—she would not have wished 


IT4 


US' THE PALACE OP THE KING 


to think that she had ruled him ? it was enough if sh@ 
had shown him the way, and had helped him. He 
pressed her hand to his cheek and looked down 
thoughtfully, wishing that he could find such simple 
words that could say so much, but not trusting him ¬ 
self to speak. For though, in love, a man speaks first, 
he always finds the least to say of love when it has 
strongest hold of him ; but a woman has words then, 
true and tender, that come from her heart unsought. 
Yet by and by, if love is not enduring, so that both 
tire of it, the man plays the better comedy, because ha 
has the greater strength, and sometimes what he says 
has the old ring in it, because it is so well said, and 
the woman smiles and wonders that his love should 
have lasted longer than hers, and desiring the illusion, 
she finds old phrases again; yet there is no life in 
them, because when love is dead she thinks of herself, 
and instead, it was only of him she thought in the 
good days when her heart used to beat at the sound 
of his footfall, and the light grew dim and unsteady as 
she felt his kiss. But the love of these two was not 
born to tire ; and because he was so young, and knew 
the world little, save at his sword’s point, he was 
ashamed that he could not speak of love as well as 
she. 

66 Find words for me,” he said, “and I will say them, 
for yours are better than mine.” 

“ Say, 4 1 love you, dear,’ very softly and gently 
not roughly, as you sometimes do. I want to hear if 
gently now, that, and nothing else/* 



4. LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 175 

She turned a little, leaning towards him, her face 
near his, her eyes quiet and warm, and she took his 
hands and held them together before her as if he were 
her prisoner — and indeed she meant that he should 
not suddenly take her in his arms, as he often did. 

“I love you, dear,” he repeated, smiling, and pr®« 
tending to be very docile. 

“ That is not quite the way,” she said, with a girlish 
laugh. “Say it again—-quite as softly, but more 
tenderly ! You must be very much in earnest, you 
know, but you must not be in the least violent.” She 
laughed again. “It is like teaching a young lion,” 
she added. “He may eat you up at any moment, 
instead of obeying you. Tell me, you have a little 
lion that follows you like a dog when you are in your 
camp, have you not? You have not told me about 
him yet. How did you teach him?” 

“ I did not try to make him say 4 1 love you, dear,* ” 
answered Don John, laughing in his turn. 

As he spoke a distant sound caught his ear, and the 
smile vanished from his face, for though he heard only 
the far off rumbling of a coach in the great court, it 
recalled him to reality. 

“ We are playing with life and death,” he said sud¬ 
denly. “ It is late, the King may be here at any 
moment, and we have decided nothing.” He rose. 

“ Is it late ? ” asked Dolores, passing her hand over 
her eyes dreamily. “ I had forgotten —it seems so 
short. Give me the key on my side of the door — we 
had decided that, you know. Go and sit down in j&m 


176 m tbm pax atm ow Turn wm® 

room? m we agreed. Shall you read my letter again, 
love ? It may be half an hour still before the King 
comes. When he is gone? we shall have all the night 
in which to decide, and the nights are very long no w. 
Oh, I hate to lose one minute of you! What shall 
you say to the King ?* 9 

44 I do not know what he may say to me," answerer 
Don John, u Listen and you shall hear —I would 
rather know that you hear everything I say. It will 
be as if I were speaking before you, and of course I 
should tell you everything the King says. He will 
speak of you, I think," 

“ Indeed, it would be hard not to listen,” said Do¬ 
lores. 44 1 should have to stop my ears, for one can¬ 
not help hearing every word that is said in the next 
room. Do you know? I heard you ask for your 
white shoes! I hardly dared to breathe for fear the 
servants should hud out that I was here.” 

54 So much the better then. Sit in this chair near 
the door. But be careful to make no noise, for the 
King is very suspicious.” 

64 1 know. Do not be afraid 5 I will be as quiet 
as a mouse. Go, love, gel It is time —oh, how I 
hate to let you leave me I You will be careful? You 
will not be angry at what he says? You would be 
wiser if you knew I were not hearing everything; 
you will want to defend me if he says the least word 
you do not like, but let him say what he will I Any¬ 
thing is better than an open quarrel between you and 
the King l Promise me to be very moderate in what 



A LOT® ©TOBY OF OJuB MADESB 


m 


you say, and very patient. Remember that be is tbe 

King! ” 

46 And my brother,” said Don John, with some bit* 
terness. “Do not fear. You know what I hav© 
premised yon. I will bear anything he may say that 
concerns me as well as I can, but if he says anything 

slighting of you — ” 

“ But he may—that is the danger. Promise m® 
not to be angry — ” 

“ How can I promise that, if he insult© you ? ” 

“No, I did not mean that exactly. Promise that 
you will not forget everything and raise your hand 
against him. You see I know you would.” 

“ No, I will not raise my hand against him. That 
was in the promise 1 made you. And as for being 
angry, I will do my best to keep my temper.” 

“I know you will. Now you must go. Good-by 9 
love! Good-by, for a little while.” 

“ For such a little time shall we say good-by? I 
hate the word; it makes me think of the day when 
I left you last.” 

“How can I tell what may happen to you when 
you are out of my sight ? ” asked Dolores. “ And 
what is 4 good by’ but a blessing each prays for the 
other? That is all it means. It does not mean that 
we part for long, love. Why, I would say it for an 
hour! Good-by, dear love, good-by! ” 

She put up her face to kiss him, and it was so 
full of trust and happiness that the word lost a3 
the bitterness it has gathered through ages of part* 


ITS or THE PALACE OP THE KING 

mgs, and seemed, what she said it was, a loving 
blessing* Yet she said it very tenderly, for it was 
hard to let him go even for less than an hour. H© 
said it, too, to please her; but yet the syllables came 
mournfully, as if they meant a world more than hers, 
and the sound of them half frightened her, so that 
she was sorry she had asked him for the word. 

“Not so!” she cried, in quick alarm. “You are 
not keeping anything from me? You are only going 
to the next room to meet the King —* are you sure ? ” 

“That is all. You see, the worn frightened you. 
It seems such a sad word to me*-—I will not say it 
again.” 

He kissed her gently, as if to soothe her fear, and 
then he opened the door and set the key in the lock 
on the inside. Then when he was outside, he lin¬ 
gered a moment, and their lips met once more with¬ 
out a word, and they nodded and smiled to on© 
another a last time, and he closed the door and 
heard her lock it* 

When she was alone, she turned away as if h© 
were gone from her altogether instead of being in 
the next room, where she could hear him moving 
now and then, as he placed his chair near the light 
to read and arranged the candlesticks on the table. 
Then he went to the other door and opened it and 
opened the one beyond upon the terrace, and she 
knew that he was looking out to see if any one were 
there. But presently he came back and sat down, 
and eh© distinctly heard the rustle of the strong 


A LOVE STORY Ot *AJ& MADRUT If® 

writing-paper as be unfolded a letter. It was hem 
H© was going to read it* as they had agreed. 

So she sat down where she could look at the door^ 
and she tried to force her eyes to see through it, to 
make him feel that she was watching him, that she 
same near him and stood beside him, and softly read 
the words for him, but without looking at them, be¬ 
cause she knew them all by heart. But it was not 
the same as if she had seen him, and it was very 
hard to be shut off from his sight by an impenetrable 
piece of wood, to lose all the moments that might 
pass before the King chose to come. Another hour 
might pass® No one could even tell whether h© 
would come at all after he had consulted with An¬ 
tonio Perez. The skilful favourite desired a quarrel 
between his master and Don John with all his heart, 
but he was not ready for it yet® He must have 
possession of Dolores first and hide her safely ^ and 
when the quarrel came, Don John should believ© 
that the King had stolen her and imprisoned her, 
and that she was treated ill i and for the woman he 
loved, Don John would tear down the walls of 
Madrid, if need be, and if at the last he found her 
dead, there would be no harm done, thought Perez, 
and Don John would hate his brother even to death, 
and all Spain would cry out in sympathy and horror* 
But all this Dolores could neither know nor even 
suspect. She only felt sure that the King and Peres 
were even now consulting together to hinder her 
Marriage with Don John, and that Perez migki 


f0® m TE3B ?ALAGB OF THU KXVG 

persuade the King not to sea hk Mother thsi 
night. 

It wag almost intolerable to think that she might 
wait there for hours, wasting the minutes for which 
she would have given drops of bloods Surety they 
both were overcautious. The door could be left 
open, so that they could talk, and at the first sound 
without, she could lock it again and sit down* That 
would be quite as safe. 

She rose and was almost in the act of opening th© 
door again when she stopped and hesitated. 2t was 
possible that at any moment the King might be at th© 
door; for though she could hear every sound that cam© 
from the next room, the thick curtains that hid the 
window effectually shut out all sound from without. It 
struck her that she could go to the window, however, 
and look out. Yet a ray of light might betray her pres¬ 
ence in the room to any one outside, and if she drew 
aside the curtain the light would shine out upon the 
terrace. She listened at Don John’s door, and pres¬ 
ently she heard him turn her letter in his hand, and 
all her heart went out to him, and she stood noiselessly 
kissing the panels and saying over again in her heart 
that she loved him more than any words could tell. If 
she could only see out of the window and assure herself 
that no one was coming yet, there would be time to go 
to him again, for one moment only, and say the words 
once more. 

Then she sat down and told herself how foolish she 
was. She had been separated from him for many long 


A MOTS STORY OF MAJDR1B 


li! 


md empty months, and now sh© had been with Mm 
and talked long with him twice in less than three 
hours, and yet she could not bear that he should b© 
out of her sight five minutes without wishing to risk 
everything to see him again She tried to laugh at 
herself, repeating over and over again that she was 
very, very foolish, and that she should have a just 
contempt for any woman who could be as foolish as 
she. For some moments she sat still, staring at the 
wall. 

In the thought of Mm that filled her heart and soul 
and mind, she saw that her own life had begun when h© 
had first spoken to her, and she felt that it would end 
with the last good-by, because if he should die or cease 
to love her, there would be nothing more to live for. 
Her early girlhood seemed dim and far away, dull and 
lifeless, as if it had not been hers at all, and had no con¬ 
nection with the present. She saw herself in the past, 
as she could not see herself now, and the child sh© 
remembered seemed not herself but another— a fair- 
haired girl living in the gloomy old house in Valladolid, 
with her blind sister and an old maiden cousin of her 
father’s, who had- offered to bring up the two and to 
teach them, being a woman of some learning, and who 
fulfilled her promise in such a conscientious and austere 
way as made their lives something of a burden under 
her strict rule. But that was all forgotten now, and 
though she still lived in Valladolid she had probably 
changed but little in the few years since Dolores had 
seem her; she was part of the past, a relic of something 


182 m THE PALACE OP THE KING 

that had hardly ever had a real existence, and which it 
was not at all necessary to remember. There was one 
great light in the girl’s simple existence, it had come all 
at once, and it was with her still. There was nothing 
dim nor dark nor forgotten about the day when she 
had been presented at court by the Duchess Alvarez, 
and she had first seen Don John, and he had first seen 
her and had spoken to her, when he had talked with 
the Duchess herself. At the first glance — and it was 
her first sight of the great world —■ she had seen that 
of all the men in the great hall, there was no one at all 
like him. She had no sooner looked into his face and 
cast her eyes upon his slender figure, all in white then, 
as he was dressed to-night, than she began to compare 
him with the rest. She looked so quickly from one 
to another that any one might have thought her to be 
anxiously searching for a friend in the crowd. But 
she had none then, and she was but assuring herself 
once, and for all her life, that the man she was to lov& 
was immeasurably beyond all other men, though the 
others were the very flower of Spain’s young chivalry. 

Of course, as she told herself now, she had not loved 
him then, nor even when she heard his voice speaking to 
her the first time and was almost too happy to under¬ 
stand his words. But she had remembered them. He 
had asked her whether she lived in Madrid. She had 
told him that she lived in the Alcazar itself, since her 
father commanded the guards and had his quarters in 
the palace. And then Don John had looked at her very 
fixedly for- a moment* and had seemed pleased, for h@ 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 


m 


smiled and said that he hoped he might see her often, and 
that if it were in his power to be of use to her father, he 
would do what he could. She was sure that she had not 
loved him then, though she had dreamed of his winning 
face and voice and had thought of little else all the next 
day, and the day after that, with a sort of feverish longing 
to see him again, and had asked the Duchess Alvarez 
so many questions about him that the Duchess had 
smiled oddly, and had shaken her handsome young 
head a little, saying that it was better not to think too 
much about Don John of Austria. Surely, she had not 
loved him already, at first sight. But on the evening 
of the third day, towards sunset, when she had been 
walking with Inez on a deserted terrace where no one 
but the two sisters ever went, Don John had suddenly 
appeared, sauntering idly out with one of his gentle¬ 
men on his left, as if he expected nothing at all; and 
he had seemed very much surprised to see her, and had 
bowed low, and somehow very soon, blind Inez, who 
was little more than a child three years ago, was leading 
the gentleman about the terrace, to show him where 
the best roses grew, which she knew by their touch and 
smell, and. Don John and Dolores were seated on an old 
stone bench, talking earnestly together. Even to her¬ 
self she admitted that she had loved him from that 
evening, and whenever she thought of it she smelt the 
first scent of roses, and saw his face with the blaze of 
the sunset in his eyes, and heard his voice saying that he 
should come to the terrace again at that hour, in which 
matter he had kept his word as faithfully m he always 


IS4 m THK FALACE OF THB BOTS 

did, and presumably without any especial effort* So 
she had known him as he really was, without the for¬ 
malities of the court life, of which she was herself a 
somewhat insignificant part ; and it was only when he 
said a few words to her before the other ladies that she 
took pains to say 6 your Highness * to him once or twice, 
and he called her 4 Dona Dolores,’ and enquired in % 
friendly manner about her father’s health. But on tha 
terrace they managed to talk without any such formal 
mode of address, and used no names at all for each 
other, until one day —but she would not think of that 
now* If she let her memory run all its course, she 
could not sit there with the door closed between him 
and her, for something stronger than she would force 
her to go and open it, and make sure he was there. 
This method, indeed, would be a very certain one, leav¬ 
ing no doubt whatever, hut at the present moment it 
would be foolish to resort to it, and, perhaps, it would 
be dangerous, too. The past was so beautiful and 
peaceful 5 she could think its history through many 
times up to that point, where thinking was sure to 
end suddenly in something which was too present for 
memory and too well remembered not to be present. 

It came back to her so vividly that she left her seat 
again and went to the curtained window, as if to 
get as far as possible from the irresistible attraction. 
Standing there she looked back and saw the key in 
the lock. It was foolish, girlish, childish, at such a 
time, but she felt that as long as it was there sh© 
should want to turn it. With a sudden resolution 


A LOVBI 8TOBY OF OLD MADBIB 


isa 


and a smile that was for her own weakness, she went 
to the door again, listened for footsteps, and then 
quietly took the key from the lock. Instantly Don 
John was on the other side, calling to her softly. 

“What is it?” he asked. “For Heaven’s sake do 
not come in, for I think I hear him coming.” 

“No,” she answered through the panel. “I was 
afraid I should turn the key, so I have taken it out.” 
She paused. “ I love you! ” she said, so that he could 
hear, and she kissed the wood, where she thought his 
face must be, just above her own. 

“ I love you with all my heart! ” he answered gently® 
“ Hush, dear love, he is coming I ” 

They were like two children, playing at a gam©| 
but they were playing on the very verge of tragedy^ 
playing at life with death at the door and the safety 
of a great nation hanging in the balance. 

A moment later, Dolores heard Don John opening 
and shutting the other doors again, and then there 
were voices. She heard her father’s name spoken in 
the King’s unmistakable tones, at once harsh and 
muffled. Every word came to her from the other 
room, as if she were present. 

“Mendoza,” said Philip, “I have private matters 
to discuss with his Highness. I desire you to wait 
before the entrance, on the terrace, and to let no one 
pass in, as we do not wish to be disturbed.” 

Her father did not speak, but she knew how he 
was bending a little stiffly, before he went backwards 
through the open door. It closed behind him, and 


IBB IN THIS PAIiACE OF THE KINS 

the two brothers were alone. Dolores’ heart beat a 
little faster, and her face grew paler as she concen¬ 
trated her attention upon making no noise. If they 
could hear her as she heard them, a mere rustling of 
her silk gown would be enough to betray her, and 
if then the King bade her father take her with Mm, 
all would be over, for Don John would certainly not 
use any violence to protect her. 

66 This is your bedchamber,” said Philip's voice. 

He was evidently examining the room, as Don John 
had anticipated that he would, for he was moving 
about. There was no mistaking Ms heavy steps for 
his brother’s elastic tread, 

“ There is no one beMnd the curtain, 5 ’ said the 
King, by which it was clear that he was making 
search for a possible concealed listener. He was by 
no means above such precautions. 

44 And that door ? n he said, with a question. u What 
is there ? ” 

Dolores’ heart almost stood still, as she held her 
breath, and heard the clumsy footfall coming nearer. 

44 It is locked,” said Don John, with undisturbed 
calm. 44 1 have not the key. I do not know where 
it is,-—it is not here.” 

As Dolores had taken it from the lock, even the last 
statement was true to the letter, and in spite of her 
anxiety she smiled as she heard it, but the next 
moment she trembled, for the King was trying the 
door, and it shook under his hand, as if it must % 
ope®. 



In the Palace of the King. A Goldwyn Cosmopolitan Picture. 

CORTEZ BRINGS A LETTER TO DOLORES FROM DON JOHN, THEN DROPS DEAD . 


























































































s. 









































































































































































































. •. 























































A LOVE STQKY OF OLD MADBID 18 * 

46 It is certainly locked he said, in a discontented 
tone. 44 But I do not like locked doors, unless I 
know what is beyond them.” 

He crossed the room again and called out to Men¬ 
doza, who answered at once. 

“Mendoza, come here with me. There is a door 
here, of which his Highness has not the key. Can 
you open it?” 

44 1 will try, your Majesty,” answered the General’s 
hard voice. 

A moment later the panels shook violently under 
the old man’s weight, for he was stronger than one 
might have thought, being lean and tough rather than 
muscular. Dolores took the moment when the noise 
was loudest and ran a few steps towards the window. 
Then the sounds ceased suddenly, and she stood still. 

“ I cannot open it, your Majesty,” said Mendoza, in 
a disconsolate tone. 

44 Then go and get the key,” answered the King 
almost angrily. 


CHAPTER XI 


tas remained hidden a quarter of an hour in the 
gallery over the throne room, before she ventured to 
open the door noiselessly and listen for any sound that 
might come from the passage. She was quite safe there, 
as long as she chose to remain, for the Princess had 
believed that she had fled far beyond and was altogether 
out of reach of any one whose dignity would not allow 
of running a race. It must be remembered that at the 
time she entered the gallery Mendoza had returned to 
his duty below, and that some time afterwards he had 
accompanied the King to Don John’s apartments, and 
had then been sent in search of the key to the locked 
door. 

The blind girl was of course wholly ignorant of his 
whereabouts, and believed him to be in or about the 
throne room. Her instinct told her that since Dolores 
had not gone to the court, as she had intended, with 
the Duchess Alvarez, she must have made some last 
attempt to see Don John alone. In her perfect inno¬ 
cence such an idea seemed natural enough to Inez, and 
it at first occurred to her that the two might have 
arranged to meet on the deserted terrace where they 
had spent so many hours in former times. She went 
there first, finding her way with some little difficulty 
188 


A LOVE STOEY OF GLD MAX>EH> 18§ 

from the corridor where the gallery was, for the region 
was not the one to which she was most accustomed, 
though there was hardly a corner of the upper story 
where she had never been. Reaching the terrace, she 
went out and called softly, but there was no answer, 
nor could she hear any sound. The night was not 
cold now, but the breeze chilled her a little, and just 
then the melancholy cry of a screech owl pierced the 
air, and she shivered and went in again. 

She would have gone to the Duchess Alvarez had sh© 
not been sure that the latter was below with the Queen, 
and even as it was, she would have taken refuge in the 
Duchess’s apartments with the women, and she might 
have learned something of Dolores there. But her 
touch reminded her that she was dressed in her sis¬ 
ter’s clothes, and that many questions might be asked 
her which it would be hard to answer. And again, it 
grew quite clear to her that Dolores must be some¬ 
where near Don John, perhaps waiting in some con¬ 
cealed corner until all should be quiet. It was more 
than probable that he would get her out of the palace 
secretly during the night and send her to his adoptive 
mother at Villagarcia. She had not believed the Prin¬ 
cess’s words in the least, but she had not forgotten 
them, and had argued rightly enough to their real 
meaning. 

In the upper story all was still now. She and 
Dolores had known where Don John was to be lodged 
in the palace nearly a month before he had returned, 
and they had been there more than once, when no on® 


IB# m THE FAItACE OF THE KIMS 

was on the terrace, and Dolores had made her iondfe 
the door and the six windows, three on each side of it. 
She could get there without difficulty, provided that no 
one stopped her. 

She went a little way in the right direction and then 
hesitated. There was more danger to Dolores than to 
herself if she should be recognized, and, after all, if 
Dolores was near Don John she was safer than she 
could foe anywhere else. Inez could not help her very 
much in any way if she found her there, and it would 
be hard to find her if she had met Mendoza at first and 
if he had placed her in the keeping of a third person. 
She imagined what his astonishment would have been 
had he found the real Dolores in her court dress a 
few moments after Inez had been delivered over to the 
Princess disguised in Dolores’ clothes, and she almost 
smiled. But then a great loneliness and a sense of 
helplessness came over her, and she turned back and 
went out upon the deserted terrace again and sat down 
upon the old stone seat, listening for the screech owl 
and the fluttering of the bats that flew aimlessly in and 
out, attracted by the light and then scared away by it 
again because the moon was at the full. 

Inez had never before then wandered about the palace 
at night, and though darkness and daylight were one 
to her, there was something in the air that frightened 
her, and made her feel how really helpless she was in 
gpite of her almost superhuman hearing and her won¬ 
derful sense of touch. It was very still ™ it was never 
so still by day. It seemed as if people must b® lying 


A LOVE 8TOBY OP OLD MADBXD 


191 


in wait for her, holding their breath lest she should 
hear even that. She had never felt blind before; she 
had never so completely realized the difference between 
her life and the lives of others. By day, she could 
wander where she pleased on the upper story—it was 
cheerful, familiar; now and then some one passed and 
perhaps spoke to her kindly, as every one did who knew 
her; and then there was the warm sunlight at the 
windows, and the cool breath of the living day in the 
corridors. The sounds guided her, the sun warmed 
her, the air fanned her, the voices of the people mad© 
her feel that she was one of them. But now, the place 
wm like an empty church, full of tombs and silent as 
the dead that lay there. She felt horribly lonely, and 
cold, and miserable, and she would have given any¬ 
thing to be in bed m her own room. She could not 
go there. Eudaldo would not understand her return, 
after being told that she was to ®tay with the Princess, 
and she would be obliged to give Mm some explana¬ 
tion. Then her vole® would betray her, and there 
would he terrible trouble. If only she had kept her 
own doak to cover Dolores 8 frock, she could have gen© 
back and the servant would' have thought it quite 
natural. Indeed, by this time he would be expecting 
her. It would he almost better to go in after all, and 
tell him soma story of her having mistaken her sister’s 
skirt for her own, and beg Mm to say nothing. Sh© 
could easily confuse him a little so that he would not 
really understand — and then in a few minutes she 
©odd be in her own room, safe and in feed* md fm 


iff m TMM FALAOIi OW TEH KIM 

mwaj from the dismal place where she wm sitting and 
ihivering as she listened to the owls. 

She rose and began to walk towards bar father’s 
quarters. But suddenly she felt that it was cowardly 
to go back without accomplishing the least part of her 
purpose, and without even finding out whether Dolores 
was in safety after all. There was but one chance of 
finding her, and that lay in searching the neighbour¬ 
hood of Don John’s lodging. Without hesitating any 
longer, she began to find her way thither at once. 
She determined that if she were stopped, either by 
her father or the Princess, she would throw back her 
head and show her face at once. That would be the 
safest way in the end. 

She reached Don John’s windows unhindered at last. 
She had felt every comer, and had been into the empty 
sentry-box; and once or twice, after listening a long 
time, she had called Dolores in a very low tone. She 
listened by the first window, and by the second and 
third, and at the door, and then beyond, till sbe came 
to the last. There were voices there, and her heart 
beat quickly for a moment. It was impossible to 
distinguish the words that were spoken, through the 
dosed window and the heavy curtains, but the mere 
tones told her that Don John and Dolores were there 
together. That was enough for her, and she could g© 
back to her room; for it seemed quite natural to her 
that her sister should be in the keeping of the man she 
loved, -- she was out of harm’s way and beyond their 
father’s power, and that was all that was necessary, 


A TjDVM gTOE¥ OF OS0 


191 


Bh& would go back I© her room at once* and exclaim 
the matter of her dress to Eudaldo m best she might. 
After all, why should he care what she wore or where 
she had been, or whether in the Princess's apartments 
she had for some reason exchanged gowns with Dolores. 
Perhaps he would not even notice the dress at all. 

Bhe meant to go at once, but she stood quite still, her 
hands resting on the low sill of th© window, while her 
forehead pressed against the cold round panes of glass. 
Something hurt her which she could not understand, m 
she tried to fancy the two beautiful young beings who 
were within, — for she knew what beauty they had, and 
Dolores had described Don John to her as a young god. 
His voice came to her like strains of very distant sweet 
music, that connect themselves to an unknown melody 
in the fancy of him who faintly hears. But Dolores 
was hearing every word he said, and it was all for her % 
and Dolores not only heard, but saw \ and seeing and 
hearing, she was loved by the man who spoke to her, m 
dearly as she loved him. 

Then utter loneliness fell upon the blind girl as sh® 
leaned against the window. She had expected nothing, 
she had asked nothing, even in her heart s and she had 
less than nothing, since never on earth, nor in heaven 
hereafter, could Don John say a loving word to her. 
And yet she felt that something had been taken from 
her and given to her sister, — something that was more 
to her than life, and dearer than the thought of sight to 
her blindness, She had taken what had not been given 
ber f in innocent girlish thoughts that were only dreams^ 


194 


IN THE PALACE OF THE KING 


and could hurt no one. He had always spoken gently 
to her, and touched her hand kindly; and many a time, 
sitting alone in the sun, she had set those words to the 
well-remembered music of his voice, and she had let 
the memory of his light touch on her fingers thrill her 
strangely to the very quick. It had been but the 
reflection of a reflection in her darkness, wherein the 
shadow of a shadow seemed as bright as day, It had 
been all she had to make her feel that she was a part of 
the living, loving world she could never see. Somehow 
she had unconsciously fancied that with a little dream¬ 
ing she could live happy in Dolores’ happiness, as by a 
proxy, and she had never called it love, any more than 
she would have dared to hope for love in return. Yet 
it was that, and nothing else,—the love that is so hope¬ 
less and starving, and yet so innocent, that it can draw 
the illusion of an airy nourishment from that which to 
another nature would be the fountain of all jealousy 
and hatred. 

But now, without reason and without warning, even 
that was taken from her, and in its place something 
burned that she did not know, save that it was a bad 
thing, and made even blackness blacker. She heard 
their voices still. They were happy together, while 
she was alone outside, her forehead resting against the 
chill glass, and her hands half numb upon the stone ; 
and so it would always be hereafter. They would go, 
and take her life with them, and she should be left be¬ 
hind, alone for ever ; and a great revolt against her fate 
ms& quickly in her breast like a Earn© before the wind* 


A LOVE STORY OP OLD MADRID 196 

®nd then, as if finding nothing to consume, sank down 
again into its own ashes, and left her more lonely than 
before. The voices had ceased now, or else the lovers 
were speaking very low, fearing, perhaps, that some one 
might be listening at the window. If Inez had heard 
their words at first, she would have stopped her ears or 
gone to a distance, for the child knew what that sort of 
honour meant, and had don® as much before. But the 
unformed sound had been good to hear, and she missed 
it. Perhaps they were sitting close and, hand in hand, 
reading all the sweet unsaid things in one another’s 
eyes. There must be silent voices in eyes that could 
see, she thought. She took little thought of the time, 
yet it seemed long to her since they had spoken. 
Perhaps they had gone to another room. She moved 
to the next window and listened there, but no sound 
came from within. Then she heard footfalls, and one 
was her father’s. Two men were coming out by the 
corridor, and she had not time to reach the sentry-box. 
With her hands out before her, she went lightly away 
from the windows to the outer side of the broad ter¬ 
race, and cowered down by the balustrade as she ran 
against it, not knowing whether she was in the moon¬ 
light or the shade. She had crossed like a shadow and 
was crouching there before Mendoza and the King came 
out. She knew by their steady tread, that ended at 
the door, that they had not noticed her $ and as the 
door closed behind them, she ran back to the window 
again and listened, expecting to hear loud and angry 
words, for she could not doubt that the King and her 


236 or THIS PALA€S OF TU® Km® 

lather had discovered that Dolores was there, amct had 
some to take her away. The Princess must have told 
Mendoza that Dolores had escaped. But she only heard 
men’s voices speaking in an ordinary tone, and sh© 
understood that Dolores was concealed. Almost at 
once, and to her dismay, she heard her lather's step 
in the hall, and now she could neither pass the door 
nor run across the terrace again* A moment later the 
King called him from within. Instantly she slipped 
across to the other side, and listened again. They were 
shaking a door, —they were in the very act of finding 
Dolores. Her heart hurt her* But then the noise 
stopped, as if they had given up the attempt, and 
presently she heard her father’s step again. Thinking 
that he would remain in the hall until the King called 
Mm,—-for she could not possibly guess what had hap¬ 
pened,—she stood quite still. 

The door opened without warning, and he wm 
almost upon her before she knew it* To hesitate m. 
instant was out of the question, and for the second 
time that night she fled, running madly to the corri¬ 
dor, which was not ten steps from where she had been 
standing, and as she entered it the light fell upon her 
from the swinging lamp, tliougn sue aia not Know it. 

Old as he was, Mendoza sprang forward in pursuit 
when he saw her figure in the dimness, dying before 
Mm, but as she reached the light of the lamp he stopped 
himself, staggering one or two steps and then reeling 
against the wall. He had recognized Dolores* dress 
md hood, and there was not the slightest ebpfefc m Mi 


A LOVE STOBV OF OLD MADBIB 


m 


mind bnt that it was herself. In that same dress hm 
had seen her in the late afternoon, she had been wear® 
ing it when he had locked her into the sitting-room, 
and, still clad in it, she must have come out with th© 
Princess. And now she was running before him from 
Don John’s lodging. Doubtless she had been in an¬ 
other room and had slipped out while he was trying 
the door within. 

He passed his hand over his eyes and breathed hard 
as he leaned against the wall, for her appearance there 
could only mean one thing, and that was ruin to her 
and disgrace to his name — the very end of all thing© 
in his life, in which all had been based upon his honour 
and every action had been a tribute to it. 

He was too much stunned to ask himself how th© 
lovers had met, if there had been any agreement be¬ 
tween them, but the frightful conviction took hold of 
him that this was not the first time, that long ago, 
before Don John had led the army to Granada, Dolores 
had found her way to that same door and had spent 
long hours with her lover when no one knew. Else 
she could not have gone to him without agreement, at 
an instant’s notice, on the very night of his return. 

Despair took possession of the unhappy man from 
that moment. But that the King was with Don John, 
Mendoza would have gone back at that moment to kill 
his enemy and himself afterwards, if need be. He re¬ 
membered his errand then. No doubt that was th© 
very room where Dolores had been concealed, and she 
had escaped from it by some other way 9 o£ which 


198 


IN THE PALACE OF THE KING 


her father did not know. He was too dazed to think 
connectedly, but he had the King’s commands to exe¬ 
cute at once. He straightened himself with a great 
effort, for the weight of his years had come upon him 
suddenly and bowed him like a burden. With the 
exertion of his will came the thirst for the satisfaction 
of blood, and he saw that the sooner he returned with 
the key, the sooner he should be near his enemy. But 
the pulses came and went in his throbbing temples, as 
when a man is almost spent in a struggle with death, 
and at first he walked uncertainly, as if he felt no 
ground under his feet. 

By the time he had gone a hundred yards he had 
recovered a sort of mechanical self-possession, such as 
comes upon men at very desperate times, when they 
must not allow themselves to stop and think of what is 
before them. They were pictures, rather than thoughts, 
that formed themselves in his brain as he wont along, 
for he saw all the past years again, from the day when 
his young wife had died, he being then already in 
middle age, until that afternoon. Ofie by one the 
years came back, and the central figure in each was 
the fair-haired little child, growing steadily to be a 
woman, all coming nearer and nearer to the end he 
had seen but now, which was unutterable shame and 
disgrace, and beyond which there was nothing. He 
heard the baby voice again, and felt the little hands 
upon his brow, and saw the serious grey eyes close to 
his own; and then the girl, gravely lovely — and her 
far-off laugh that hardly ever rippled through the room 


A LOYE STOEY OP OLD MADBID 


199 


when he was there; and then the stealing softness of 
grown maidenhood, winning the features one by one, 
and bringing back from death to life the face he had 
loved best, and the voice with long-forgotten tones that 
touched his soul’s quick, and dimmed his sight with 
a mist, so that he grew hard and stern as he fought 
within him against the tenderness he loved and feared. 
All this he saw and heard and felt again, knowing that 
each picture must end but in one way, in the one sight 
he had seen and that had told his shame—a guilty 
woman stealing by night from her lover’s door. Not 
only that, either, for there was the almost certain 
knowledge that she had deceived him for years, and 
that while he had been fighting so hard to save her 
from what seemed but a show of marriage, she had 
been already lost to him for ever and ruined beyond all 
hope of honesty. J 

They were not thoughts, but pictures of the false and 
of the true, that rose and glowed an instant and then 
3 ank like the inner darkness of his soul, leaving only 
that last most terrible one of all behind them, burned 
into his eyes till death should put out their light and 
bid him rest at last, if he could rest even in heaven 
with such a memory. 

It was too much, and though he walked upright and 
gazed before him, he did not know his way, and his feet 
took him to his own door instead of on the King’s 
errand. His hand was raised to knock before he 
understood, and it fell to his side in a helpless, hope¬ 
less way, when he saw where he was. Then he turned 


200 


IN THE PALACE OF THE KING 


stiffly, as a man turns on parade, and gathered his 
strength and marched away with a measured tread. 
For the world and what it held he would not have 
entered his dwelling then, for he felt that his daughter 
was there before him, and that if he once saw her face 
he should not be able to hold his hand. He would not 
see her again on earth, lest he should take her life for 
what she had done. 

He was more aware of outward things after that, 
though he almost commanded himself to do what he 
had to do, as he would have given orders to one of his 
soldiers. He went to the chief steward’s office and 
demanded the key of the room in the King’s name. 
But it was not forthcoming, and the fact that it could 
not be found strengthened his Conviction that Don John 
had it in his keeping. Yet, for the sake of form, he 
insisted sternly, saying that the King was waiting for 
it even then. Servants were called and examined and 
threatened, but those who knew anything about it 
unanimously declared that it had been left in the 
door, while those who knew nothing supported their 
fellow-servants by the same unhesitating assertion, till 
Mendoza was convinced that he had done enough, and 
turned his back on them all and went out with a grey 
look of despair on his face. 

He walked rapidly now, for he knew that he was 
going back to meet his enemy, and he was trying not to 
think what he should do when he should see Don John 
before him and at arm’s length, but defended by the 
King’s presence from any sudden violence. He knew 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 


201 


that in his heart there was the wild resolve to tell the 
truth before his master and then to take the payment 
of blood with one thrust and destroy himself with the 
next, but though he was half mad with despair, he 
would not let the thought become a resolve. In his 
soldier’s nature, high above everything else and domi® 
nating his austere conscience of right and wrong, a* 
well as every other instinct of his heart, there was tk 
respect of his sovereign and the loyalty to him at all 
costs, good or bad, which sent self out of sight where 
his duty to the King was concerned. 


CHAPTER XII 


When h© had sent away Mendoza, the King re¬ 
mained standing and began to pace the floor, while 
Don John stood by the table watching him and wait¬ 
ing for him to speak. It was clear that he was still 
angry, for his anger, though sometimes suddenly roused, 
was very slow to reach its height, and slower still to 
subside; and when at last it had cooled, it generally 
left behind it an enduring hatred, such as could be sat¬ 
isfied only by the final destruction of the object that 
had caused it. That lasting hate was perhaps more 
dangerous than the sudden outburst had been, but in 
moments of furious passion Philip was undoubtedly a 
man to be feared. 

He was evidently not inclined to speak until he had 
ascertained that no one was listening in the next room, 
but as he looked from time to time at Don John his 
still eyes seemed to grow almost yellow, and his lower 
lip moved uneasily. He knew, perhaps, that Mendoza 
could not at once find the servant in whose keeping 
file key of the door was supposed to be, and he grew 
impatient by quick degrees until his rising temper got 
the better of his caution. Don John instinctively drew 
himself up, as a man does who expects to be attacked. 
He was ©lose to the table, and remained almost motion- 
203 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 


203 


less during the discussion that followed, while Philip 
paced up and down, sometimes pausing before his 
brother for a moment, and then turning again to re¬ 
sume his walk. His voice was muffled always, and 
was hard to hear; now and then it became thick and 
indistinct with rage, and he cleared his throat roughly, 
as if he were angry with it, too. At first he main¬ 
tained the outward forms of courtesy in words if not 
in tone, but long before his wrath had reached its final 
climax he forgot them altogether. 

“ I had hoped to speak with you in privacy, on mat¬ 
ters of great importance. It has pleased your High¬ 
ness to make that impossible by your extraordinary 
behaviour.” 

Don John raised his eyebrows a little incredulously, 
and answered with perfect calmness. 

“I do not recollect doing anything which should 
seem extraordinary to your Majesty.” 

“You contradict me,” retorted Philip. “That is 
extraordinary enough, I should think. I am not aware 
that it is usual for subjects to contradict the King. 
What have you to say in explanation ? ” 

M Nothing. The facts explain themselves well 
enough.” 

“We are not in camp,” said Philip. “Your High® 
ness is not in command here, and I am not your sub¬ 
ordinate. I desire you to remember whom you ars 
addressing, for your words will be remembered.” 

“I never said anything which I wished another &© 
forget,” answered Don John proudly. 


m 


m THE PALACE OF THE Km® 


H Take care, then! ’* The King spoke sullenly, ant 
turned away, for he was slow at retort until he was 
greatly roused. 

Don John did not answer, for he had no wish to 
produce such a result, and moreover he was much more 
preoccupied by the serious question of Dolores* safety 
than by any other consideration. So far the King had 
said nothing which, but for some derogation from his 
dignity, might not have been said before any one, and 
Don John expected that he would maintain the same 
toiiQ until Mendoza returned. It was hard to predict 
what might happen then. In all probability Dolores 
would escape by the window and endeavour to hide 
herself in the empty sentry-box until the interview was 
over. He could then bring her back in safety, but the 
discussion promised to be long and stormy, and mean- 
while she would be in constant danger of discovery. 
But there was a worse possibility, not even quite be¬ 
yond the bounds of the probable. In his present mood, 
Philip, if he lost his temper altogether, would perhaps 
be capable of placing Don John under arrest. He was 
all powerful, he hated his brother, and he was very 
angry. His last words had been a menace, or had 
sounded like one, and another word, when Mendoza 
returned, could put the threat into execution. Don 
John reflected, if such thought could be called reflect 
tion, upon the situation that must ensue, and upon the 
probable fate of the woman he loved. He wondered 
whether she were still in the room, for hearing that the 
door was to be opened, she might hare thought it best 


A U3Y E STOBY OF OLB MADBID H§§ 

lo escape at once, while her father was absent from the 
terrace on his errand. If not, she could certainly go 
out by the window as soon as she heard him coming 
back. It was clearly of the greatest importance to pre¬ 
vent the King’s anger from going any further. Anto¬ 
nio Perez had recognized the same truth from a very 
different point of view, and had spent nearly three- 
quarters of an hour in flattering his master with th© 
consummate skill which he alone possessed. He be¬ 
lieved that he had succeeded when the King had dis¬ 
missed him, saying that he would not see Don John 
until the morning. Five minutes after Perez was 
gone, Philip was threading the corridors, completely 
disguised in a long black cloak, with the ever-loyal 
Mendoza at his heels. It was not the first time that 
he had deceived his deceivers. 

He paced the room in silence after he had last 
spoken. As soon as Don John realized that his liberty 
might be endangered, he saw that he must say what ha 
could in honour and justice to save himself from arrest^ 
since nothing else could save Dolores. 

“I greatly regret having done anything to anger 
your Majesty,” he said, with quiet dignity. “I was 
placed in a very difficult position by unforeseen cir¬ 
cumstances. If there had been time to reflect, I might 
have acted otherwise.” 

“Might have acted otherwise!” repeated Philip 
harshly. “I do not like those words. You might 
have acted otherwise than to defy your sovereign 
before the Queen ! I trusted you might, indeed I ” 


208 


m THE PALACE OF THE KEN© 


He was silent again, his protruding lip working 
angrily, as if he had tasted something he dislikedo 
Don John’s half apology had not been received with 
much grace, but he saw no way open save to insist that 
it was genuine. 

64 It is certainly true that I have lived much in 
camps of late,” he answered, 44 and that a camp is not 
a school of manners, any more than the habit of 
commanding others accustoms a man to courtly sub¬ 
mission.” 

44 Precisely. You have learned to forget that you 
have a superior in Spain, or in the world. You already 
begin to affect the manners and speech of a sovereign 
— you will soon claim the dignity of one, too, I have no 
doubt. The sooner we procure you a kingdom of your 
own, the better, for your Highness will before long 
become an element of discord in ours.” 

44 Rather than that,” answered Don John, 44 1 will 
live in retirement for the rest of my life.” 

44 We may require it of your Highness,” replied 
Philip, standing still and facing his brother. 44 It may 
be necessary for our own safety that you should spend 
some time at least in very close retirement **»*» very ! ” 
He almost laughed. 

44 1 should prefer that to the possibility of causing 
any disturbance in your Majesty’s kingdom.” 

Nothing could have been more gravely submissive 
than Don John’s tone, but the King was apparently 
determined to rouse his anger. 

44 Your deeds belie your words,” he retorted, begin- 


A LOTS STOBY OF OLD MADRID 


207 


aing to walk again. “There is too much loyalty in 
what you say, and too much of a rebellions spirit in 
what you do. The two do not agree together. You 
mock me.” 

“ God forbid that I ” cried Don John. “ I desire no 
praise for what I may have done, but such as my deeds 
have been they have produced peace and submission in 
your Majesty's kingdom, and not rebellion —- ” 

“ And is it because you have beaten a handful of ill- 
armed Moriscoes, in the short space of two years, that 
the people follow you in throngs wherever you go, 
shouting for you, singing your praises, bringing peti¬ 
tions to you by hundreds, as if you were King —as if 
you were more than that, a sort of god before whom 
every one must bow down? Am I so simple as to 
believe that what you have done with such leisure is 
enough to rouse all Spain, and to make the whole court 
break out into cries of wonder and applause as soon as 
you appear ? If you publicly defy me and disobey me, 
do I not know that you believe yourself able to do so, 
and think your power equal to mine ? And how could 
that all be brought about, save by a party that i3 for 
you, by your secret agents everywhere, high and low, 
forever praising you and telling men, and women, too, 
of your graces, and your generosities, and your victo¬ 
ries, and saying that it is a pity so good and brave a 
prince should be but a leader of the King’s armies, and 
then contrasting the King himself with you, the cruel 
King, the grasping King, the scheming King, the King 
who has every fault that is not found in Don John of 


201 IK THE PALACE OP THE KIN© 

Austria, the people’s god I Is that peace and submis¬ 
sion ? Or is it the beginning of rebellion, and revolu¬ 
tion, and civil war, which is to set Don John of Austria 
on the throne of Spain, and send King Philip to 
another world as soon as all is ready ? ” 

Don John listened in amazement. It had never 
occurred to him any one could believe him capable of 
the least of the deeds Philip was attributing to him, 
and in spite of his resolution his anger began to rise. 
Then, suddenly, as if cold water had been dashed in his 
face, he remembered that an hour had not passed since 
he had held Dolores in his arms, swearing to do that of 
which he was now accused, and that her words only 
had held him back. It all seemed monstrous now. 
As she had said, it had been only a bad dream and he 
had wakened to himself again. Yet the thought of 
rebellion had more than crossed his mind, for in a mo¬ 
ment it had taken possession of him and had seemed to 
change all his nature from good to bad. In his own 
eyes he was rebuked, and he did not answer at once. 

64 You have nothing to say 1 ” exclaimed Philip scorn- 
fully, 44 Is there any reason why I should not try you 
for high treason ? ” 

Don John started at the words, but Ms anger was 
gone, and he thought only of Dolores’ safety in the 
near future. 

44 Your Majesty is far too just to accuse an innocent 
man who has served you faithfully,” he answered. 

Philip stopped and looked at him curiously and long, 
trying to detect some sign of anxiety if not of fear. 




A LOVE STOEY OP OLD MABEID 20 § 

He was accustomed to torture men with words well 
enough, before he used other means, and he himself had 
not believed what he had said. It had been only an 
experiment tried on a mere chance, and it had failed. 
At the root of his anger there was only jealousy and 
personal hatred of the brother who had every grace 
and charm which he himself had not. 

“More kind than just, perhaps,” he said, with a 
slight change of tone towards condescension. 44 1 am 
willing to admit that I have no proofs against you, but 
the evidence of circumstances is not in your favour. 
Take care, for you are observed. You are too much 
before the world, too imposing a figure to escape 
observation.” 

“ My actions will bear it. I only beg that your Maj¬ 
esty will take account of them rather than listen to 
such interpretation as may be put upon them by other 
men.” 

“ Other men do nothing but praise you,” said Philip 
bluntly. 44 Their opinion of you is not worth having ! 
I thought I had explained that matter sufficiently. 
You are the idol of the people, and as if that were not 
enough, you are the darling of the court, besides being 
the women’s favourite. That is too much for one man 
to be — take care, I say, take care ! Be at more pains 
for my favour, and at less trouble for your popularity.” 

44 So far as that goes,” answered Don John, with some 
pride, 44 1 think that if men praise me it is because I 
have served the King as well as I could, and with suc¬ 
cess. If your Majesty is not satisfied with what I have 


9 


210 


m THE PALACE OF THE KING 


done, let me have more to do, 1 shall try to do evec 
the impossible.” 

« That will please the ladies,” retorted Philip, with a 
sneer. “You will be overwhelmed with correspond¬ 
ence—~ your gloves will not hold it all.” 

Don John did not answer, for it seemed wiser to let 
the King take this ground than return to his former 
position. 

“You will have plenty of agreeable occupation in 
time of peace. But it is better that you should be 
married soon, before you become so entangled with the 
ladies of Madrid as to make your marriage impossible/ 9 

“Saving the last clause,” said Don John boldly, “I 
am altogether of your Majesty’s opinion. But I fear 
no entanglements here.” 

“No —you do not fear them. On the contrary, yon 
live in them as if they were your element.” 

“No man can say that,” anwered Don John. 

“You contradict me again. Pray, if you have no 
entanglements, how comes it that you have a lady’s 
letter in your glove ? ” 

“I cannot tell whether it was a lady’s letter or a 
man’s.” 

“ Have you not read it ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ And you refused to show it to me on the ground 
that it was a woman’s secret ? ” 

“ I had not read it then. It was not signed, and it 
might well have been written by a man.” 

Don John watched the King’s face. It was far imm 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 


m 


improbable, be thought, that the King had caused it to 
be written, or had written it himself, that he supposed 
his brother to have read it, and desired to regain pos¬ 
session of it as soon as possible. Philip seemed to 
hesitate whether to continue his cross-examination ©r 
not, and he looked at the door leading into the ante¬ 
chamber, suddenly wondering why Mendoza had not 
returned. Then he began to speak again, but he did 
not wish, angry though he was, to face alone a second 
refusal to deliver the document to him. His dignity 
would have suffered too much. 

44 The facts of the case are these,” he said, as if he 
were recapitulating what had gone before in his mind. 
44 It is my desire to marry you to the widowed Queen 
of Scots, as you know. You are doing all you can to 
oppose me, and you have determined to marry the 
dowerless daughter of a poor soldier. I am equally 
determined that you shall not disgrace yourself by 
such an alliance.” 

44 Disgrace ! ” cried Don John loudly, almost before 
the word had passed the King’s lips, and he made half 
a step forward. 44 You are braver than I thought you, 
if you dare use that word to me ! ” 

Philip stepped back, growing livid, and his hand 
was on his rapier. Don John was unarmed, but his 
sword lay on the table within his reach. Seeing the 
King afraid, he stepped back. 

44 No,” he said scornfully, 44 1 was mistaken. Yon are 
a coward.” He laughed as he glanced at Philip’s hand; 
still on the hilt of his weapon and ready to draw ito 


ill DT THE PALACE OF THE KD$Q 

In the next room Dolores drew frightened breathy 
for the tones of the two men’s voices had changed 
suddenly. Yet her heart had leapt for joy when she 
had heard Don John’s cry of anger at the King’s 
insulting word. But Don John was right, for Philip 
was a coward at heart, and though he inwardly re¬ 
solved that his brother should be placed under arrest 
m soon as Mendoza returned, his present instinct was 
not to rouse him further. He was indeed in danger* 
between his anger and his fear, for at any moment he 
might speak some bitter word, accustomed as he was 
to the perpetual protection of his guards, but at the 
next his brother's hands might be on his throat, for 
he had the coward’s true instinct to recognize the mm 
who was quite fearless. 

You strangely forget yourself,” he said, with an 
appearance of dignity. “ You spring forward as if yon 
were going to grapple with me, and then you are sur¬ 
prised that I should be ready to defend myself.” 

44 1 barely moved a step from where I stand,” an¬ 
swered Don John, with profound contempt. am 
unarmed, too. There lies my sword, on the table.] 
But since you are the King as well as my brother, I 
make ail excuses to your Majesty for having been the 
cause of your fright.” 

Dolores understood what had happened, m Don John 
meant that she should. She knew also that her posi¬ 
tion was growing more and more desperate and untea- 
able *kt every moment; yet she could not blame her 
lover for what he had said. Even to save her- ate 


A STOEY OF OLS MAim ip ill 

would mot have had Mm cringe to the King Mid mk 
pardon for Ms hasty word and movements still hm 
could she have borne that he should not cry out in 
protest at a word that insulted her, though ever m 
lightly e 

“I do not desire to insist upon ©nr kinship/* said 
Philip coldly,, “If I chose to acknowledge it when 
you were a boy, it was out of respect for the memory 
©f the Emperor* It was not in the expectation of 
being called brother by the son of a German burgher’s 
daughter/ 5 

Don John did not wince, for the words, being liter¬ 
ally true and without exaggeration, could hardly be 
treated as an insult, though they were meant for one, 
and hurt him, as all reference to Ms real mother always 
did. 

“ Yes/ 5 he said, still scornfully. “ I am the son of & 
German burgher’s daughter, neither better nor worm. 
But I am your brother, for all that, and though I shall 
not forget that you are King and I am subject, when 
we are before the world, yet here, we are man and man, 
you and I, brother and brother, and there is neither 
King nor prince. But I shall not hurt you, so you 
seed fear nothing. I respect the brother far to© little 
for that, and the sovereign too much.” 

There was a bad yellow light in Philip’s face, and 
instead of walking towards Don John and ww&y from 
Mm, m he had done hitherto, he began to pace up and 
down, crossing and recrossing before him, from the 
foot ©£ the great canopied, bed to om ®f tm mrtamsd 


214 


IN THE PALACE OF THE KING 


windows, keeping his eyes upon his brother almost all 
the time. 

“ I warned you when I came here that your words 
should be remembered,” he said. “ And your actions 
shall not be forgotten, either. There are safe places, 
even in Madrid, where you can live in the retirement 
you desire so much, even in total solitude. 

“ If it pleases your Majesty to imprison Don John of 
Austria, you have the power. For my part, I shall 
make no resistance.” 

“Who shall, then?” asked the King angrily. “Do 
you expect that there will be a general rising of the 
people to liberate you, or that there will be a revolu® 
tion within the palace, brought on by your party, 
which shall force me to set you free for reasons of 
state ? We are not in Paris that you should expect the 
one, nor in Constantinople where the other might b© 
possible. We are in Spain, and I am master, and my 
will shall be done, and no one shall cry out against it. 
I am too gentle with you, too kind! For the half of 
what you have said and done, Elizabeth of England 
would have had your life to-morrow — yes, I consent 
to give you a chance, the benefit of a doubt there is 
still in my thoughts about you, because justice shall 
not be offended and turned into an instrument of 
revenge. Yes — I am kind, I am clement. We shall 
see whether you can save yourself. You shall have 
the chance.” 

“What chance is that?” asked Don John, growing 
very quiet, for he saw the real danger near at hand again* 


A LOVE STORY OP OLD MADRID 215 

“ You shall have an opportunity of proving that a 
subject is at liberty to insult his sovereign, and that the 
King is not free to speak his mind to a subject. Can 
you prove that ? ” 

“ I cannot.” 

“Then you can be convicted of high treason,” an¬ 
swered Philip, his evil mouth curling. “There are 
several methods of interrogating the accused,” he con¬ 
tinued. “ I daresay you have heard of them.” 

“ Do you expect to frighten me by talking of tort¬ 
ure?” asked Don John, with a smile at the implied 
suggestion. 

“ Witnesses are also examined,” replied the King, his 
voice thickening again in anticipation of the effect he 
was going to produce upon the man who would not 
fear him. “With them, even more painful methods 
are often employed. Witnesses may be men or women, 
you know, my dear brother — ” he pronounced the 
word with a sneer — “ and among the many ladies of 
your acquaintance — ” 

“There are very few.” 

“It will be the easier to find the two or three, or 
perhaps the only one, whom it will be necessary to 
interrogate — in your presence, most probably, and by 
torture.” 

“I was right to call you a coward,” said Don John, 
slowly turning pale till his face was almost as white as 
the white silks and satins of his doublet. 

“ Will you give me the letter you were reading when 
I came here ? ” 


IN THE PALACE OF THE KING 


“No.” 

64 Not to save yourself from tlie executioner’s hands? 

44 No.” 

“Not to save — ” Philip paused, and a frightful stare 
cf hatred fixed his eyes on his brother. 44 Will you 
give me that letter to save Dolores de Mendoza from 
being torn piecemeal ? ” 

44 Coward! ” 

By instinct Don John’s hand went to the hilt of his 
sheathed sword this time, as he cried out in rage, and 
sprang forward. Even then he would have remem¬ 
bered the promise he had given and would not have 
raised his hand to strike. But the first movement was 
enough, and Philip drew his rapier in a flash of light, 
fearing for his life. Without waiting for an attack he 
made a furious pass at his brother’s body. Don John’s 
hand went out with the sheathed sword in a desperate 
attempt to parry the thrust, but the weapon was 
entangled in the belt that hung to it, and I hilip s lunge 
had been strong and quick as lightning. 

With a cry of anger Don John fell straight back* 
wards, his feet seeming to slip from under him on the 
smooth marble pavement, and with his fall, as he threw 
out his hands to save himself, the sword flew high into 
the air, sheathed as it was, and landed far away. He 
lay at full length with one arm stretched out, and for 
a moment the hand twitched in quick spasms. Then 
it was quite still. 

At his feet stood Philip, his rapier in his hand, and 
Mood on its fine point. His eyes shone yellow in the 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 217 

candlelight, his jaw had dropped a little, and he bent 
forwards, looking intently at the still, white face. 

He had longed for that moment ever since he had 
entered his brother’s room, though even he himself had 
not guessed that he wanted his brother’s life. There 
was not a sound in the room as he looked at what he 
had done, and two or three drops of blood fell one by 
one, very slowly, upon the marble. On the dazzling 
white of Don John’s doublet there was a small red 
stain. As Philip watched it, he thought it grew wider 
and brighter. 

Beyond the door, Dolores had fallen upon her knees, 
pressing her hands to her temples in an agony beyond 
thought or expression. Her fear had risen to terror 
while she listened to the last words that had been 
exchanged, and the King’s threat had chilled her blood 
like ice, though she was brave. She had longed to cry 
out to Don John to give up her letter or the other, 
whichever the King wanted — she had almost tried to 
raise her voice, in spite of every other fear, when she 
had heard Don John’s single word of scorn, and the 
quick footsteps, the drawing of the rapier from its 
sheath, the desperate scuffle that had not lasted five 
seconds, and then the dull fall which meant that one 
was hurt. 

It could only be the King, — but that was terrible 
enough, — and yet, if the King had fallen, Don John 
would have come to the door the next instant. All 
was still in the room, but her terror made wild noises 
in her ears. The two men might have spoken now and 


IN THE PALACE OF THE KIN© 


©he could not have heard them,— nor the opening of 
a door, nor any ordinary sound. It was no longer the 
fear of being heard, either, that made her silent. Her 
throat was parched and her tongue paralyzed. She 
remembered suddenly that Don John had been un¬ 
armed, and how he had pointed out to Philip that 
his sword lay on the table. It was the King who 
had drawn his own, then, and had killed his unarmed 
brother. She felt as if something heavy were striking 
her head as the thoughts made broken words, and 
flashes of light danced before her eyes. With her 
hands she tried to press feeling and reason and silence 
back into her brain that would not be quieted, but 
the certainty grew upon her that Don John was killed, 
and the tide of despair rose higher with every breath. 

The sensation came upon her that she was dying, 
then and there, of a pain human nature could not 
endure, far beyond the torments Philip had threat¬ 
ened, and the thought was merciful, for she could not 
have lived an hour in such agony, — something would 
have broken before then. She was dying, there, on 
her knees before the door beyond which her lover 
lay suddenly dead. It would be easy to die. In a 
moment more she would be with him, for ever, and 
in peace. They would find her there, dead, and per¬ 
haps they would be merciful and bury her near him. 
But that would matter little, since she should be with 
him always now. In the first grief that struck her, 
and bruised her, and numbed her as with material 
blows, she had no tears, but there was a sort of choking 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 21 $ 

in lier throat, and her eyes burned her like hoi 
iron. 

She did not know how long she knelt, waiting for 
death. She was dying, and there was no time any 
more, nor any outward world, nor anything but her 
lover’s dead body on the floor in the next room, and 
his soul waiting for hers, waiting beside her for her 
to die also, that they might go together. She was so 
sure now, that she was wondering dreamily why it 
took so long to die, seeing that death had taken him 
so quickly. Could one shaft be aimed so straight and 
could the next miss the mark? She shook all over, 
as a new dread seized her. She was not dying, — her 
life clung too closely to her suffering body, her heart 
was too young and strong to stand still in her breast 
for grief. She was to live, and bear that same pain 
a lifetime. She rocked herself gently on her knees, 
bowing her head almost to the floor. 

She was roused by the sound of her father’s voice, 
and the words he was speaking sent a fresh shock of 
horror through her unutterable grief, for they told her 
that Don John was dead, and then something else so 
strange that she could not understand it. 

Philip had stood only a few moments, sword in hand, 
over his brother ’3 body, staring down at his face, when 
the door opened. On the threshold stood old Men¬ 
doza, half-stunned by the sight he saw. Philip heard, 
stood up, and drew back as his eyes fell upon the 
old soldier. He knew that Mendoza, if no one else, 
knew the truth now, beyond any power of his to con- 


220 m THE PALACE OF THE Km® 

seal it* His anger had subsided, and a sort of borrow 
that could never be remorse, had come over him fofc 
what he had done* It must have been in his face, fot; 
Mendoza understood, and he came forward quickly an4 
knelt down upon the floor to listen for the beating 
of the heart, and to try whether there was any breath 
to dim the brightness of his polished scabbard. Philip 
looked on in silence. Like many an old soldier Men- 
doza had some little skill, but he saw the bright spot 
on the white doublet, and the still face and the hand® 
relaxed, and there was neither breath nor beating of 
the heart to give hope. He rose silently, and shook 
his head. Still looking down he saw the red drops 
that had fallen upon the pavement from Philip's rapier, 
and looking at that, saw that the point was dark. 
With a gesture of excuse he took the sword from the 
King’s hand and wiped it quite dry and bright upon 
his own handkerchief, and gave it back to Philip, who 
sheathed it by his side, but never spoke. 

Together the two looked at the body for a full 
minute and more, each silently debating what should b© 
done with it. At last Mendoza raised his head, and 
there was a strange look in his old eyes and a sort 
of wan greatness came over his war-worn face. It 
was then that he spoke the words Dolores heard. 

“ I throw myself upon your Majesty’s mercy! I 
have killed Don John of Austria in a private quarrel, 
and he was unarmed.” 

Philip understood well enough, and a faint sr£le of 
satisfaction flitted through the shadows of his faur. It 


A LOTS STORY OF OLD MADRID ggf 

was out of the question that the world should ever 
know who had killed his brother, and he knew th© 
man who offered to sacrifice himself by bearing the 
blame of the deed. Mendoza would die, on the scaf¬ 
fold if need be, and it would be enough for him to 
know that his death saved his King. No word would 
ever pass his lips. The man’s loyalty would bear any 
proof; he could feel horror at the thought that Philip 
could have done such a deed, but the King’s name must 
be saved at all costs, and the King’s divine right must 
be sustained before the world. He felt no hesitation 
from the moment when he saw clearly how this must 
be done. To accuse some unknown murderer and let 
it be supposed that he had escaped would have been 
worse than useless; the court and half Spain knew of 
the King’s jealousy of his brother, every one had seen 
that Philip had been very angry when the courtiers 
had shouted for Don John; already the story of the 
quarrel about the glove was being repeated from mouth 
to mouth in the throne room, where the nobles had 
reassembled after supper. As soon as it was known 
that Don John was dead, it would be believed by 
every one in the palace that the King had killed him 
or had caused him to be murdered. But if Mendoza 
took the blame upon himself, the court would believe 
him, for many knew of Dolores’ love for Don John, 
and knew also how bitterly the old soldier was opposed 
to their marriage, on the ground that it would be no 
marriage at ail, but his daughter’s present ruin. There 
wm 'so one else in the palace who could accuse himself 


222 


IK THE PALACE OF THE KXSTO 


of the murder and who would be believed to have dons 
it without the King's orders, and Mendoza knew this* 
when he offered his life to shield Philip’s honour. 
Philip knew it, too, and while he wondered at the old 
man’s simple devotion, he accepted it without protest, 
as his vast selfishness would have permitted the de¬ 
struction of all mankind, that it might be satisfied and 
filled. 

He looked once more at the motionless body at his 
feet, and once more at the faithful old man. Then he 
bent his head with condescending gravity, as if he were 
signifying his pleasure to receive kindly, for the giver’s 
sake, a gift of little value. 

44 So be it,” he said slowly. 

Mendoza bowed his head, too, as if in thanks, and 
then taking up the long dark cloak which the King 
had thrown off on entering, he put it upon Philip’s 
shoulders, and went before him to the door. And 
Philip followed him without looking back, and both 
went out upon the terrace, leaving both doors ajar 
after them. They exchanged a few words more as 
they walked slowly in the direction of the corridor. 

44 It is necessary that your Majesty should return at 
once to the throne room, as if nothing had happened,” 
said Mendoza. 44 Your Majesty should be talking un¬ 
concernedly with some ambassador or minister when 
the news is brought that his Highness is dead.” 

44 And who shall bring the news?” asked Philip 
calmly, as if he were speaking to an indifferent person* 

“ I will, Sire,” answered Mendoza firmly. 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 22IE 

64 They will tear yon in pieces before I can save 
you,” returned Philip, in a thoughtful tone. 

“So much the better. I shall die for my King, and 
your Majesty will be spared the difficulty of pardoning 
a d:ed which will be unpardonable in the eyes of the 
whole world.” 

“ That is true,” said the King meditatively. 44 But 
I do not wish you to die, Mendoza,” he added, as an 
afterthought. “You must escape to France or to 
England.” 

“ I could not make my escape without your Majesty’s 
help, and that would soon be known. It would then 
be believed that I had done the deed by your Majesty’s 
orders, and no good end would have been gained.” 

“ You may be right. You are a very brave man, 
Mendoza — the bravest I have ever known. I thank 
you. If it is possible to save you, you shall be saved.” 

“It will not be possible,” replied the soldier, in a 
low and steady voice. 44 If your Majesty will return 
at once to the throne room, it may be soon over. Be¬ 
sides, it is growing late, and it must be done before 
the whole court.” 

They entered the corridor, and the King walked a 
few steps before Mendoza, covering his head with the 
hood of his cloak lest any one should recognize him, 
and gradually increasing his distance as the old man 
fell behind. Descending by a private staircase, Philip 
reentered his own apartments by a small door that 
gave access to his study without obliging him to pass 
through the antechamber, and by which he often cam© 


124 


sar Twm palace of tot kut® 


and want unobserved. Alone In Ms innermost room, 
and divested of bis hood and cloak, the King went to 
a Venetian mirror that stood upon a pier table between 
the windows, and examined his face attentively. Not 
a trace of excitement or emotion was visible in th© 
features he saw, but his hair was a little disarranged, 
and he smoothed it carefully and adjusted it about his 
ears. From a silver box on the table he took a little 
scented lozenge and put it into his mouth. No reason- 
able being would have suspected from his appearance 
that he had been moved to furious anger and had don© 
a murderous deed less than twenty minutes earlier. 
His still eyes were quite calm now, and the yellow 
gleam in them had given place to their naturally un¬ 
certain colour. With a smile of admiration for his 
own extraordinary powers, he turned and left th© 
room. He was enjoying one of his rare moments of 
satisfaction, for the rival he had long hated and was 
beginning to dread was never to stand in bis way 
again nor to rob him of the least of his attributes oi 
sovereignty. 


CHAPTER XIII 


Dolores had not understood her father’s words* 
All that was clear to her was that Don John was 
dead and that his murderers were gone. Had there 
been danger still for herself, she could not have felt 
it; but there was none now as she laid her hand 
upon the key to enter the bedchamber. At first the 
lock would not open, as it had been injured in some 
way by being so roughly shaken when Mendoza had 
tried it. But Dolores* desperate fingers wound them¬ 
selves upon the key like little ropes of white silk, 
slender but very strong, and she wrenched at the 
thing furiously till it turned. The door flew open, 
and she stood motionless a moment on the threshold. 
Mendoza had said that Don John was dead, but she 
had not quite believed it. 

He lay on his back as he had fallen, his feet 
towards her, his graceful limbs relaxed, one arm 
beside him, the other thrown back beyond his head, 
the colourless fingers just bent a little and showing 
the nervous beauty of the hand. The beautiful young 
face was white as marble, and the eyes were half 
open, very dark under the waxen lids. There was 
one little spot of scarlet on the white satin coat, near 
the left breast. Dolores saw it all in the bright 
q m 


226 


m THE PALACE OF THE KING 


light of the candles, and she neither moved nor 
closed her fixed eyes as she gazed. She felt that 
she was at the end of life; she stood still to see it 
ail and to understand. But though she tried to 
think, it was as if she had no mind left, no capacity 
for grasping any new thought, and no power to con¬ 
nect those that had disturbed her brain with the 
present that stared her in the face. An earthquake 
might have torn the world open under her feet at 
that moment, swallowing up the old Alcazar with 
the living and the dead, and Dolores would have 
gone down to destruction as she stood, unconscious 
of her fate, her eyes fixed upon Don John’s dead 
features, her own life already suspended and waiting 
to follow his. It seemed as if she might stand there 
till her horror should stop the beating of her own 
heart, unless something came to rouse her from the 
stupor she was in. 

But gradually a change came over her face, her 
lids drooped and quivered, her face turned a little 
upward, and she grasped the doorpost with one hand, 
lest she should reel and fall. Then, knowing that 
she could stand no longer, instinct made a last effort 
upon her; its invisible power thrust her violently 
forward in a few swift steps, till her strength broke 
all at once, and she fell and lay almost upon the 
body of her lover, her face hidden upon his silent 
breast, one hand seeking his hand, the other press® 
ing his cold forehead. 

It was not probable that any one should find he? 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 


221 


there for a long time. The servants and gentlemen 
had been dismissed, and until it was known that 
Don John was dead, no one would come. Even if 
she could have thought at all, she would not have 
cared who saw her lying there; but thought was 
altogether gone now, and there was nothing left but 
the ancient instinct of the primeval woman mourn¬ 
ing her dead mate alone, with long-drawn, hopeless 
weeping and blinding tears. 

They came, too, when she had lain upon his breast 
a little while and when understanding had wholly 
ceased and given way to nature. Then her body 
shook and her breast heaved strongly, almost throw¬ 
ing her upon her side as she lay, and sounds that 
were hardly human came from her lips; for the first 
dissolving of a woman's despair into tears is most like 
the death agony of those who die young in their 
strength, when the limbs are wrung at the joints 
and the light breaks in the upturned eyes, when the 
bosom heaves and would take in the whole world at 
one breath, when the voice makes sounds of fear that 
are beyond words and worse to hear than any words 
could be. 

Her weeping was wild at first, measureless and vio¬ 
lent, broken by sharp cries that hurt her heart like 
jagged knives, then strangled to a choking silence 
again and again, as the merciless consciousness that 
could have killed, if it had prevailed, almost had her 
by the throat, but was forced back again with cruel 
pain by the young life that would not die, though 


128 IK THE PALACE OF THE KIKG 

living was agony and death would have been m 
welcome as air. 

Then her loud grief subsided to a lower key, and 
her voice grew by degrees monotonous and despair* 
ing as the turning tide on a quicksand, before bad 
weather, — not diminished, but deeper drawn within 
itself; and the low moan came regularly with each 
breath, while the tears flowed steadily. The first 
wild tempest had swept by, and the more enduring 
storm followed in its track. 

So she lay a long time weeping; and then strong 
hands were upon her, lifting her up and dragging her 
aw«,y, without warning and without word. She did 
not understand, and she fancied herself in the arms 
of some supernatural being of monstrous strength 
that was tearing her from what was left of life and 
love. She struggled senselessly, but she could find 
no foothold as she was swept through the open door. 
She gasped for breath, as one does in bad dreamy 
and bodily fear almost reached her heart through its 
sevenfold armour of such grief as makes fear ridicu¬ 
lous and turns mortal danger to an empty show. 
The time had seemed an age since she had fallen 
upon dead Don John—at had measured but a short 
few minutes; it seemed as if she were being dragged 
the whole length of the dim palace as the strong 
hands bore her along, yet she was only carried from 
the room to the terrace; and when her eyes could 
see, she knew that she was in the open air on a ston® 
seat in the moonlight, the cool night breeze fanning 


A LOVB STOET OF OLD MABBUJ Sg§ 

her face, while a gentle hand supported her head, — 
fche same hand that had been so masterfully strong 
a moment earlier, A face she knew and did not 
dread, though it was unlike other faces, was just at 
the same height with her own, though the man was 
standing beside her and she was seated; and the 
moonlight made very soft shadows in the ill-drawn 
features of the dwarf, so that his thin and twisted 
lips were kind and his deep-set eyes were overflow¬ 
ing with human sympathy. When he understood 
that she saw him and was not fainting, he gently 
drew away his hand and let her head rest against 
the stone parapet. 

She was dazed still, and the tears veiled her sight. 
He stood before her, as if guarding her, ready in case 
she should move and try to leave him. His long arms 
hung by his sides, but not quite motionless, so that h© 
could have caught her instantly had she attempted t© 
spring past him; and he was wise and guessed rightly 
what she would do. Her eyes brightened suddenly, 
and she half rose before he held her again. 

44 No, no! w she said desperately. 44 1 most go t© 
him — let me go—let me go back S ” 

But his hands were on her shoulders in an Instant^ 
and she was in a vise, forced back to her seat. 

44 How dare you touch me! ” she cried, in the furious 
anger of a woman beside herself with grief. 44 How 
dare you lay hands on me! >? she repeated in a ris¬ 
ing key, but struggling in vain against his greate 
strength® 


280 


m THE PALACE OF THE KING 


“You would have died, if I had left you there, 5 * 
answered the jester. “And besides, the people will 
come soon, and they would have found you there, 
lying on his body, and your good name would haY8 
gone forever.” 

“ My name! What does a name matter ? Or any¬ 
thing? Oh, let me go ! No one must touch him —no 
hands that do not love him must come near him —■let 
me get up—let me go in again I ” 

She tried to force the dwarf from her —she would 
have struck him, crushed him, thrown him from the 
terrace, if she could. She was strong, too, in her 
grief; but his vast arms were like iron bars, growing 
from his misshapen body. His face was very grave 
and kind, and his eyes more tender than they had 
ever been in his life. 

“ No,” he said gently. M You must not go. By and 
by you shall see him again, but not now. Do not try, 
for I am much stronger than you, and I will not let 
you go back into the room.” 

Then her strength relaxed, and she turned to the 
stone parapet, burying her face in her crossed arms, 
and her tears came again. For this the jester was 
glad, knowing that tears quench the first white heat of 
such sorrows as can burn out the soul and drive the 
brain raving mad, when life can bear the torture. He 
stood still before her, watching her and guarding her, 
but he felt that the worst was past, and that before 
very long he could lead her away to a place of greater 
safety. He had indeed taken her as far as he mvM 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 


231 


from Don John’s door, and out of sight of it, where 
the long terrace turned to the westward, and where it 
was not likely that any one should pass at that hour. 
It had been the impulse of the moment, and he himself 
had not recovered from the shock of finding Don 
John’s body lifeless on the floor. He had known 
nothing of what had happened, but lurking in a corner 
to see the King pass on his way back from hi 3 brother’s 
quarters, he had made sure that Don John was alone, 
and had gone to his apartment to find out, if he could, 
how matters had fared, and whether he himself were 
in further danger or not. He meant to escape from 
the palace, or to take his own life, rather than be 
put to the torture, if the King suspected him of being 
involved in a conspiracy. He was not a common cow¬ 
ard, but he feared bodily pain as only such sensitive 
organizations can, and the vision of the rack and the 
boot had been before him since he had seen Philip’s 
face at supper. Don John was kind, and would have 
warned him if he were in danger, and so all might have 
been well, and by flight or death he might have escaped 
being torn limb from limb. So he had gone boldly in, 
and had found the door ajar and had entered the bed¬ 
chamber, and when he had seen what was there, he 
would have fled at once, for his own safety, not only 
because Don John’s murder was sure to produce terri¬ 
ble trouble, and many enquiries and trials, in the 
course of which he was almost sure to be lost, but also 
for the more immediate reason that if he were seen 
near the body when it was discovered, he should 


fig IH TBM PALJlOB OF TRM Me 

f&iniy he put to the question ordinary and extraordi¬ 
nary for his evidence. 

But he was not a common coward, and in spite ©f 
his own pardonable terror, he thought first of the inno¬ 
cent girl whose name and fame would be gone if she 
were found lying upon her murdered lover's body, and 
so far as he could, he saved her before he thought of 
saving himself, though with infinite difficulty and 
against her will. 

Half paralyzed by her immeasurable grief, she lay 
against the parapet, and the great sobs came evenly, 
as if they were counted, shaking her from her head to 
her waist, and just leaving her a breathing spao® 
between each one and the next. The jester felt that 
he could do nothing. So long as she had seemed un¬ 
conscious, he had tried to help her a little by support¬ 
ing her head with his hand and arm, as tenderly as If 
she had been his own child. So long m she did not 
know what he was doing, she was only a human being 
in distress, and a woman, and deep down in the jester’s 
nature there was a marvellous depth of pity for all 
things that suffered — the deeper and truer because his 
own sufferings in the world were great. But it was 
quite different now that she knew where she was and 
recognized him. She was no longer a woman now, but 
a high-born lady, one of the Queen’s maids of honour, 
a being infinitely far removed above his sphere, and 
whose hand he was not worthy to touch. He would 
have dared to be much more familiar with the King 
himself than with Mils young girl who® fat® had 


A LOT® STOUT OF OLD MADRID 


281 


placed in his keeping for a moment. In the moon¬ 
light he watched her, and as he gazed upon her grace* 
fnl figure and small head and slender, bending arms, 
it seemed to him that she had come down from an 
altar to suffer in life, and that it had been almost sac¬ 
rilege to lay his hands upon her shoulders and keep 
her from doing her own will. He almost wondered 
how he had found courage to be so rough and com* 
manding* He was gentle of heart, though it was his 
trade to make sharp speeches, and there were wonder* 
ful delicacies of thought and feeling far down in his 
suffering cripple’s nature. 

44 Come,” he said softly, when he had waited a long 
time, and when he thought she was growing more 
quiet. “ You must let me take you away, Dona Maria 
Dolores, for we cannot stay here.” 

u Take me back to him,” she answered. a Let me 
back to him ! ” 

44 No — to your father—*I cannot take you to him. 
You will be safe there.” 

Dolores sprang to her feet before the dwarf could 
prevent her. 

“To my father? oh, no, no, mat Never, as long m 
I live I I will go anywhere, but sot to him ! Take 
your hands from me — do not touch me! I am not 
strong, but I shall kill you if you try to take me to 
my father! ” 

Her small hands grasped the dwarfs wrists and 
wrung them with desperate energy, and she tried to 
pish him away, m that she might pass him. But ha 


234 


IN THE PALACE OF THE KING 


resisted her quietly, planting himself in a position of 
resistance on his short bowed legs, and opposing th© 
whole strength of his great arms to her girlish violence* 
Her hands relaxed suddenly in despair. 

“ Not to my father! ” she pleaded, in a broken voice* 
44 Oh, please, please — not to my father 1 ” 

The jester did not fully understand, but he yielded, 
for he could not carry her to Mendoza’s apartments by 
force. 

“ But what can I do to put you in a place of safety ? w 
he asked, in growing distress. 44 You cannot stay here.” 

While he was speaking a light figure glided out from 
the shadows, with outstretched hands, and a low voice 
called Dolores’ name, trembling with terror and emo¬ 
tion. Dolores broke from the dwarf and clasped te 
sister in her arms. 

54 Is it true?” moaned loss. **!§ it tm? Is fct 
dead ? ” And her voice broke. 


CHAPTER XIV 


The courtiers had assembled again in the great 
throne room after supper, and the stately dancing, for 
which the court of Spain was even then famous through¬ 
out Europe, had begun. The orchestra was placed un¬ 
der the great arch of the central window on a small 
raised platform draped with velvets and brocades that 
hung from a railing, high enough to conceal the musi¬ 
cians as they sat, though some of the instruments and 
the moving bows of the violins could be seen above it. 

The masked dancing, if it were dancing at all, which 
had been general in the days of the Emperor Maxi¬ 
milian, and which had not yet gone out of fashion alto¬ 
gether at the imperial court of Vienna, had long beem 
relegated to the past in Spain, and the beautiful “pa- 
vane ” dances, of which awkward travesties survive in 
our day, had been introduced instead. As now, the 
older ladies of the court withdrew to the sides of the 
hall, leaving the polished floor free for those who danced, 
and sets formed themselves in the order of their rank 
from the foot of the throne dais to the lower end. As 
now, too, the older and graver men congregated to¬ 
gether in outer rooms; and there gaming-tables were 
set out, and the nobles lost vast sums at games now 
long forgotten, by the express authorization of 


23S m THE PALACE OF TOT BOTG 

pious Philip, who saw that everything which oonM 
injure the fortunes of the grandees must consolidate 
his own, by depriving them of some of that immense 
wealth which was an ever-ready element of revolution. 
He did everything in his power to promote the ruin of 
the most powerful grandees in the kingdom by encour¬ 
aging gaming and all imaginable forms of extrava¬ 
gance, and he looked with suspicion and displeasure 
upon those more prudent men who guarded their riches 
carefully, as their fathers had done before them. But 
these were few, for it was a part of a noble's dignity 
to lose enormous sums of money without the slightest 
outward sign of emotion or annoyance. 

It had been announced that the King and Queen 
would not return after supper, and the magnificent 
gravity of the most formal court in the world was m 
little relaxed when this was known. Between th® 
strains of music, the voices of the courtiers rose in 
unbroken conversation, and now and then there was & 
ripple of fresh young laughter that echoed sweetly 
under the high Moorish vault, and died away just as 
it rose again from below. 

Yet the dancing was a matter of state, and solemn 
enough, though it was very graceful. Magnificent 
young nobles- in scarlet, in pale green, in straw colour, 
in tender shades of blue, all satin and silk and velvet and 
embroidery, led lovely women slowly forward with long 
and gliding steps that kept perfect time to the music, 
and turned and went back, and wound mazy figure* 
With the rest, under the waxen light of the waxen 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 28? 

torches, and returned to their places with deep curt¬ 
sies on the one side, and sweeping obeisance on th® 
other. The dresses of the women were richer by far 
with gold and silver, and pearls and other jewels, than 
those of the men, but were generally darker in tone, for 
that was the fashion then. Their skirts were straight 
and barely touched the floor, being made for a time when 
dancing was a part of court life, and when every one 
within certain limits of age was expected to dance welL 
There was no exaggeration of the ruffle then, nor had 
the awkward hoop skirt been introduced in Spain, 
Those were the earlier days of Queen Elizabeth’s 
reign, before Queen Mary was imprisoned; it was th® 
time, indeed, when the rough Bothwell had lately 
carried her off and married her, after a fashion, with 
so little ceremony that Philip paid no attention to the 
marriage at all, and deliberately proposed to make her 
Don John’s wife. The matter was freely talked of 
on that night by the noble ladies of elder years who 
gossiped while they watched the dancing. 

That was indeed such a court as had not been seen 
before, nor was ever seen again, whether one count 
beauty first, or riches and magnificence, or the marvel 
of splendid ceremony and the faultless grace of studied 
manners, or even the cool recklessness of great lords 
and ladies who could lose a fortune at play, as if they 
were throwing a handful of coin to a beggar in the 
street. 

The Princess of Eboli stood a little apart from th© 
rest, having just returned to the ball-room, and hes 


IS8 m THE PALACE OP THE KBST0 

eyes searched for Dolores in the crowd, though she 
scarcely expected to see her there. It would have 
been almost impossible for the girl to put on a court 
dress in so short a time, though since her father had 
allowed her to leave her room, she could have gone 
back to dress if she had chosen. The Princess had 
rarely been at a loss in her evil life, and had seldom 
been bafSed in anything she had undertaken, since that 
memorable occasion on which her husband, soon after 
her marriage, had forcibly shut her up in a convent for 
several months, in the vain hope of cooling her indomi¬ 
table temper. But now she was nervous and uncertain 
of herself. Not only had Dolores escaped her, but 
Don John had disappeared also, and the Princess had 
not the least doubt but that the two were somewhere 
together, and she was very far from being sure thsy ft 
they had not already left the palace. Antonio Peres 
had informed her that the King had promised not 
to see Don John that night, and for once she was 
foolish enough to believe the King’s word. Peres 
came up to her as she was debating what she should 
do. She told Mm her thoughts, laughing gaily from 
time to time, as if she were telling him some very 
witty story, for she did not wish those who watched 
them to guess that the conversation was serious* 
Perez laughed, too, and answered in low tones, with 
many gestures meant to deceive the court. 

u The King did not take my advice,” he said. U I 
had scarcely left him, when he went to Bon John’s 
apartments” 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 289 

* How do yon know that ? ” asked the Princess, with 
some anxiety. 

“He found the door of an inner room locked, and he 
sent Mendoza to find the key. Fortunately for the 
old man’s feelings it could not be found! He would 
have had an unpleasant surprise.’’ 

« Why?” 

“ Because his daughter w m m the room that wm 
locked,” laughed Perez. 

“ When ? How ? How long ago was that ? ” 

“ Half an hour—not more. ” 

“ That m impossible. Half an hour ago Dolores dte 
Mendoza was with me.” 

“Then there was another lady in the room.” Perm 
laughed again. ®* Better two than one,” he added. 

“Ton are wrong/’ said the Princess, and her face 
darkened. u Don John has not so much as deigned to 
look at any other woman these two years.”' 

“You should know that best,” returned the Secre¬ 
tary, with a little malice in his smile. 

It was well known .in the court that two or three 
years earlier, during the horrible intrigue that ended 
in the death of 'Don Carlos, the Princess of EboM had 
done her best to bring Don John of Austria t© her feet, 
and had failed notoriously, because he was already in 
love with Dolores. She was angry now, and the rich 
colour came into her handsome dark face, 

“ Don Antonio Perez,” -she said, “taka car® I I hm® 
made you. I mn also unmake you.” \ 

Perez an air of dmpie and innocent 


14# m T MM FALAOM O W T&M M2K® 

prise, as if lie were quite sure that he had gold nothing 
to annoy her, still less to wound her deeply. He be¬ 
lieved that she really loved him and that he could play 
with her as if his own intelligence far surpassed hers. 
In the first matter he was right, but he was very much 
mistaken in the second. 

44 1 do not understand,” he said. 44 If I have don© 
anything to offend you, pray forgive my ignorance, 
and believe in the unchanging devotion of your most 
faithful slave ” 

His dark eyes became very expressive as ha bowed 
a little, with a graceful gesture of deprecation. The 
Princess laughed lightly, but there was still a spark of 
annoyance in her look. 

44 Why does Don John not come?” she asked impa¬ 
tiently. 44 We should have danced together. Some¬ 
thing must have happened —can you not find out?” 

Others were asking the same question in surprise, 
for it had been expected that Don John would enter 
immediately after the supper. His name was heard 
from end to end of the hall, in every conversation, 
wherever two or three persons were talking together. 
It was in the air, like his popularity, everywhere and 
in everything, and the expectation of his coming 
produced a sort of tension that was felt by every one. 
The men grew more witty, the younger women’s eyes 
brightened, though they constantly glanced towards 
the door of the state apartments by which Don John 
should enter, and as the men's conversation became 
more brilliant the women paid less attention to its 


A Z#0VH STOLB MABEZD 242 

was hardly one of them who did nest hope that 
Don John might notice her before the evening w m 
over,-—there was not one who did not fancy herself 
a little in love with him, as there was hardly a man 
there who would not have drawn Ms sword for Imy? 
and fought for him with all his heart. Many, though 
they dared not say so, secretly wished that some evil 
might befall Philip, and that he might soon die child¬ 
less, since he had destroyed his only son and only heir, 
and that Don John might be King in Ms stead. The 
Princess of Eboli and Perez knew well enough that 
their plan would be popular, if they could ever bring 
it to maturity. 

The music swelled and softened, and rose again in 
those swaying strains that inspire an irresistible bodily 
longing for rhythmical motion, and which have infinite 
power to call up all manner of thoughts, passionate 
gentle, hopeful, regretful, by turns. In the middle 
of the hall, more than a hundred dancers moved} 
swayed, and glided in time with the sound, changed 
places, and touched hands in the measure, tripped 
forward and back, and sideways, and met and parted 
again without pause, the colours ol their dresses min¬ 
gling to rich unknown hues in the soft candle-light, m 
the figure brought many together, and separating into 
a hundred elements again, when the next steps scattered 
them again; the jewels in the women's hair, the clasps 
of diamonds and precious stones at throat, and shoulder* 
and waist, all moved with an intricate motion, in orbits 
that crossed and recrossed in the tinted sea of silk, and 


242 IK THE PALACE OF THE KING 

flashed all at once, as the returning burden of the 
music brought the dancers to stand and turn at the 
same beat of the measure. Yet it was all unlike 
the square dancing of these days, which is either no 
dancing at all, but a disorderly walk, or else is so 
stiffly regular and awkward that it makes one think 
of a squad of recruits exercising on the drill ground. 
There was not a motion, then, that lacked grace, or 
ease, or a certain purpose of beauty, nor any, perhaps, 
that was not a phrase in the allegory of love, from 
which all dancing is, and was, and always must be, 
drawn. Swift, slow, by turns, now languorous, now 
passionate, now full of delicious regret, singing love’s 
triumph, breathing love’s fire, sighing in love’s despair, 
the dance and its music were one, so was sight inter¬ 
mingled with sound, and motion a part of both. And 
at each pause, lips parted and glance sought glance in 
the light, while hearts found words in the music that 
answered the language of love. Men laugh at danc¬ 
ing and love it, and Women, too, and no one can tell 
where its charm is, but few have not felt it, or longed 
to feel it, and its beginnings are very far away in 
primeval humanity, beyond the reach of theory, unless 
instinct may explain all simply, as it well may. For 
light and grace and sweet sound are things of beauty 
which last for ever, and love is the source of the future 
and the explanation of the past; and that which can 
bring into itself both love and melody, and grace and 
light, must needs be a spell to charm men and women. 

There was more than that in the air on that night* 


A LOYE STORY OF OLD MADRID 


248 


for Don John’s return had set free that most intoxi¬ 
cating essence of victory, which turns to a mad fire 
in the veins of a rejoicing people, making the least 
man of them feel himself a soldier, and a conqueror, 
and a sharer in undying fame. They had loved him 
from a child, they had seen him outgrow them in 
beauty, and skill, and courage, and they had loved 
him still the more for being the better man; and now 
he had done a great deed, and had fulfilled and over¬ 
filled their greatest expectations, and in an instant he 
leapt from the favourite’s place in their hearts to the 
hero’s height on the altar of their wonder, to be the 
young god of a nation that loved him. Not a man, 
on that night, but would have sworn that Don John 
was braver than Alexander, wiser than Charlemagne, 
greater than Csesar himself ; not a man but would 
have drawn his sword to prove it on the body of any 
who should dare to contradict him, — not a mother 
was there, who did not pray that her sons might be 
but ever so little like him, no girl of Spain but dreamt 
she heard his soft voice speaking low in her ear. Not 
often in the world’s story has a man so young done 
such great things as he had done and was to do before 
his short life was ended; never, perhaps, was any man 
so honoured by his own people, so trusted, and so 
loved. 

They could talk only of him, wondering more and 
more that he stayed away from them on such a night, 
yet sure that he would come, and join the dancing, 
for as he fought with a skill beyond that of other 


244 


IK THE PALACE OF THE KING 


swordsmen, so lie danced with the most surpassing 
grace. They longed to see him, to look into his face, 
to hear his voice, perhaps to touch his hand i for he 
was free of manner and gentle to all, and if he came 
lie would go from one to another, and remember each 
with royal memory, and find kind words for every one„ 
They wanted him among them, they felt a sort of tense 
desire to see him again, and even to shout for him 
again, as the vulgar herd did in the streets, — as they 
themselves had done but an hour ago when he had 
stood out beside the throne. And still the dancers 
danced through the endless measures, laughing and 
talking at each pause, and repeating his name till it 
was impossible not to hear it, wherever one might be 
in the hall, and there was no one, old or young, who 
did not speak it at least once in every five minutes. 
There was a sort of intoxication in its very sound, and 
the more they heard it, the more they wished to hear 
it, coupled with every word of praise that the language 
possessed. From admiration they rose to enthusiasm, 
from enthusiasm to a generous patriotic passion in 
which Spain was the world and Don John was Spain, 
and all the rest of everything was but a dull and life¬ 
less blank which could have no possible interest for 
natural people. 

Young men, darkly Hushed from dancing, swore 
that whenever Don John should be next sent with an 
army, they would go, too, and win his battles and share 
in his immortal glory; and grand, grey men who wore 
the Golden Fleece, men who had seen great battle® in 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID M5 

the Emperor’s day, stood together and talked of him, 
and praised God that Spain had another hero of the 
Austrian house, to strike terror to the heart of France, 
to humble England at last, and to grasp what little 
of the world was not already gathered in the hollow 
of Spain’s vast hand. 

Antonio Perez and the Princess of Eboli parted and 
went among the courtiers, listening to all that was to 
be heard and feeding the fire of enthusiasm, and met 
again to exchange glances of satisfaction, for they were 
well pleased with the direction matters were taking, 
and the talk grew more free from minute to minute, 
till many, carried away by a force they could not 
understand and did not seek to question, were openly 
talking of the succession to the throne, of Philip’s 
apparent ill health, and of the chance that they might 
before long be doing service to his Majesty King John. 

The music ceased again, and the couples dispersed 
about the hall, to collect again in groups. There was 
a momentary lull in the talk, too, as often happens 
when a dance is just over, and at that moment the 
great door beside the throne was opened, with a noise 
that attracted the attention of allj and all believed 
that Don John was returning, while all eyes were fixed 
upon the entrance to catch the first glimpse of him, 
and every one pronounced his name at once in short, 
glad tones of satisfaction. 

“ Don John is coming ! It is Don John of Austria! 
Don John is there I ” 

It was almost a universal cry of welcome 


248 


m THE PALACE OF THE KING 


instant later a dead silence followed as a chamberlain’s 
clear voice announced the royal presence, and King 
Philip advanced upon the platform of the throne. For 
several seconds not a sound broke the stillness, and h© 
came slowly forward followed by half a dozen nobles 
in immediate attendance upon him. But though h© 
must have heard his brother’s name in the general 
chorus of voices as soon as the door had been thrown 
open, he seemed by no means disconcerted; on th© 
contrary, he smiled almost affably, and his eyes were 
less fixed than usual, as he looked about him with 
something like an air of satisfaction. As soon as it 
was clear that he meant to descend the steps to the 
floor of the hall, the chief courtiers came forward, Ruy 
Gomez de Silva, Prince of Eboli, Alvarez de Toledo-, 
the terrible Duke of Alva, the Dukes of Medina 
Sidonia and of Infantado, Don Antonio Perez the 
chief Secretary, the Ambassadors of Queen Elizabeth 
of England and of France, and a dozen others, bowing 
so low that the plumes of their hats literally touched 
the floor beside them. 

“ Why is there no dancing ? ” asked Philip, address¬ 
ing Ruy Gomez, with a smile. 

The Minister explained that one of the dances wae 
but just over. 

“Let there be more at once,” answered the King, 
“ Let there be dancing and music without end to-night. 
We have good reason to keep the day with rejoicings 
since the war is over, and Don John of Austria has 
come back in triumph,” 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 24? 

The command was obeyed instantly, as Ruy Gomes 
made a sign to the leader of the musicians, who was 
watching him intently in expectation of the order. 
The King smiled again as the long strain broke th© 
silence and the conversation began again all through 
the hall, though in a far more subdued tone than 
before, and with much more caution. Philip turned 
to the English Ambassador. 

“ It is a pity,” he said, “ that my sister of England 
cannot be here with us on such a night as this. We 
saw no such sights in London in my day, my lord.” 

“There have been changes since then, Sire, ” an¬ 
swered the Ambassador. “The Queen is very much 
inclined to magnificence and to great entertainments, 
and does not hesitate to danco nerself, being of a very 
vital and pleasant temper. Nevertheless, your Maj¬ 
esty’s court is by far the most splendid in the world.” 

“ There you are right, my lord! ” exclaimed the 
King. “And for that matter, we have beauty also, 
such as is found nowhere else.” 

TJie Princess of Eboli was close by, waiting for him 
to speak to her, and his eyes fixed themselves upon her 
face with a sort of cold and snakelike admiration, to 
which she was well accustomed, but which even now 
made her nervous. The Ambassador was not slow to 
take up the cue of flattery, for Englishmen still knew 
how to flatter in Elizabeth’s day. 

“The inheritance of universal conquest,” he said, 
bowing and smiling to the Princess. “ Even the vio 
fcories of Don John of Austria must yield to ihat e ” 


S48 m TBB PALACE OP THE 

The Princess laughed carelessly. Had Peres spokes 
the words, she would have frowned, but the King’s eyes 
were watching her. 

“ His Highness has fled from the field without strik¬ 
ing a blow,” she said. “ We have not seen him this 
evening.” As she spoke she met the King’s gaze with 
a look of enquiry. 

“Don John will be here presently, no doubt,” he 
said, as if answering a question. “Has he not been 
here at all since supper?” 

“No, Sire ; though every one expected him to com® 
at once.” 

“That is strange,” said Philip, with perfect self- 
possession. “He is fond of dancing, toono on© 
can dance better than he. Have you ever known & 
man so roundly gifted as my brother, my lord ? ” 

“ A most admirable prince,” answered the Ambassa¬ 
dor, gravely and without enthusiasm, for he feared that 
the King was about to speak of his brother’s possible 
marriage with Queen Mary of Scots. 

“And a most affectionate and gentle nature,” said 
Philip, musing. “ I remember from the time when he 
was a boy that every one loved him and praised him, 
and yet he is not spoiled. He is always the same. He 
is my brother—-how often have I wished for such a 
son ! Well, he may yet be King. ‘Who should, if not 
he, when I am gone ? ” 

“ Your Majesty need not anticipate such a frightful 
calamity I ” cried the Princess fervently, though she 
was at that momesit weighing the comparative adv&n® 


A JASYMt STOBY OF ©LB MADBXB i4§ 

of several mortal diseases by which, in appearance 
at least, his exit from the world might be accelerated, 

“ Life is very uncertain, Princess,” observed the 
King. “ My lord,” he turned to the English Ambas* 
sador again, “ do you consider melons indigestible in 
England ? I have lately heard much against them.” 

“ A melon is a poor thing, of a watery constitution,, 
your Majesty,” replied the Ambassador glibly. “ There 
can be but little sustenance in a hollow piece of water 
that is sucked from a marsh and enclosed in a green 
rind. To tell the truth, I hear it ill spoken of by our 
physicians, but I cannot well speak of the matter, for 
I never ate one in my life, and please God I never 
will! ” 

“ Why not! ” enquired the King, who took an ex* 
traordinary interest in the subject. “You fear them, 
then ! Yet you seem to be exceedingly strong and 
healthy.” 

“ Sire, I have sometimes drunk a little water for my 
stomach’s sake, but I will not eat it.” 

The King smiled pleasantly. 

“ How wise the. English are ! ” ha said, W© may 
yet learn much of them.” 

Philip turned away from the Ambassador and 
watched the dance in silence. The courtiers now 
stood in a wide half circle to the right and left of 
him as he faced the hall, and the dancers passed back* 
wards and forwards across the open space. His slow 
eyes followed one figure without seeing the rest. In 
the set nearest to him a beautiful girl was dancing 


250 m THE PALACE OF THE KING 

with one of Don John’s officers. She was of the rarest 
type of Andalusian beauty, tall, pliant, and slenderly 
strong, with raven’s-wing hair and splendidly languorous 
eyes, her creamy cheek as smooth as velvet, and a mouth 
like a small ripe fruit. As she moved she bent from 
the waist as easily and naturally as a child, and every 
movement followed a new curve of beauty from her 
white throat to the small arched foot that darted into 
sight as she stepped forward now and then, to disap¬ 
pear instantly under the shadow of the gold-embroidered 
skirt. As she glanced towards the King, her shadowy 
lids half hid her eyes and the long black lashes almost 
brushed her cheek. Philip could not look away from 
her. 

But suddenly there was a stir among the courtiers, 
and a shadow came between the King and the vision 
he was watching. He started a little, annoyed by the 
interruption and at being rudely reminded of what had 
happened half an hour earlier, for the shadow was cast 
by Mendoza, tall and grim in his armour, his face as 
grey as his grey beard, and his eyes hard and fixed. 
Without bending, like a soldier on parade, he stood 
there, waiting by force of habit until Philip should 
speak to him. The King’s brows bent together, and 
he almost unconsciously raised one hand to signify that 
the music should cease. It stopped in the midst of a 
bar, leaving the dancers at a standstill in their measure, 
and all the moving sea of light and colour and gleam¬ 
ing jewels was arrested instantly in its motion, while 
every look waa turned towards the King. The 


JS. LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 251 

change from sound to silence, from motion to immo¬ 
bility, was so sudden that every one was startled, as 
if some frightful accident had happened, or as if an 
earthquake had shaken the Alcazar to its deep foun¬ 
dation. 

Mendoza’s harsh voice spoke out alone in accents 
that were heard to the end of the halL 

“Don John of Austria is dead ! I, Mendoza, have 
killed him unarmed.” 

It was long before a sound was heard, before any 
man or woman in the hall had breath to utter a wordo 
Philip’s voice was heard first. 

M The man is mad,” he said, with undisturbed cool¬ 
ness. “ See to him, Perez.” 

“No, no!’’cried Mendoza. “I am not mad. I 
have killed Don John. You shall find him in his room 
as he fell, with the wound in his breast.” 

One moment more the silence lasted, while Philip’s 
stony face never moved. A single woman’s shriek 
rang out first, long, ear-piercing, agonized, and then, 
without warning, a cry went up such as the old hall 
had never heard before. It was a bad cry to hear, for 
it clamoured for blood to be shed for blood, and though 
it was not for him, Philip turned livid and shrank back 
a step. But Mendoza stood like a rock, waiting to be 
taken. 

In another moment furious confusion filled the hall. 
From every side at once rose women’s cries, and the 
deep shouts of angry men, and high, clear yells of rage 
and hate. The men pushed past the ladies of the court 


m 


m THE PALACE O W THE KIEO 


to the front, and some came singly, but a serried rank 
moved up from behind, pushing the others before them* 

w Kill him ! Kill him at the King’s feet * Kill him 
where he stands I 

And suddenly something made blue hashes of light 
high over the heads of all; a rapier was out and 
wheeled in quick circles from a pliant wrist- An offi- 
cer of Mendoza's guard had drawn it, and a dozen more 
were in the air in an instant, and then daggers by 
scores, keen, short, and strong, held high at arm’s 
length, each shaking with the fury of the baud that 
held it. 

64 Sangre ! Sangre l M 

Some one had screamed out the wild cry of the Span¬ 
ish soldiers —» ‘ Blood ! Blood I * and the young men 
took it up in a mad yell, as they pushed forwards furi¬ 
ously, while the few who stood in front tried to keep a 
space open round the King and Mendoza, 

The old man never winced, and disdained to turn 
his head, though he heard the cry of death behind him, 
and the quick, soft sound of daggers drawn from leath¬ 
ern sheaths, and the pressing of men who would be 
upon him in another moment to tear him limb from 
limb with their knives. 

Tall old Ruy Gomez had stepped forwards to stem 
the tide of death, and beside him the English Ambassa 
dor, quietly determined to see fair play or to be hurt 
himself in preventing murder. 

“Back!*' thundered Ruy Gomez, in a voice that 
was heard. “ Back, I say 1 Are you gentlemen of 


A LOVB STORY OF OLD MADRID 

&pain ? or are you executioners yourselves that 
would take this man’s blood ? Stand back ! w 
M Sangre I Sangre ! ” echoed the hallo 
* s Then take mine first! ” shouted the brave old 
Prince, spreading his short cloak out behind him with 
his hands to cover Mendoza more completely* 

But still the crowd of splendid young nobles surged 
up to him, and back a little, out of sheer respect for 
his station and his old age, and forwards again, dagger 
in hand, with blazing eyes. 

Sangre ! Sangre l Sangre I ” they cried, blind with 
fury. 

But meanwhile, the guards filed in, for the prudent 
Perez had hastened to throw wide the doors and sum¬ 
mon them. Weapons in hand and ready, they formed 
a square round the King and Mendoza and Buy 
Gomez, and at the sight of their steel caps and breast¬ 
plates and long-tasselled halberds, the yells of the 
courtiers subsided a little and turned to deep curses 
and execrations and oaths of vengeance* A high 
voice pierced the low roar, keen and cutting as a knife, 
but no one knew whose it was, and Philip almost reeled 
as he heard the words. 

Remember Don Carlos! Don John of Austria is 
gone to join Don Carlos and Queen Isabel i 

Again a deadly silence fell upon the multitude, and 
the King leaned on Perez 5 arm. Some woman’s hate 
had bared the truth in a flash, and there were hundreds 
of hands in the hall that were ready to take his life 
Instead of Mendoza’s ,* and he knew it, and was afraid 


CHAPTER XW 


Thb agonized cr j that had been first beard in tbs 
bail had come from Inez’s lips. When she had fied 
from her father, she had regained her hiding-place in 
the gallery above the throne room. She would not go 
to her own room, for she felt that rest was out of the 
question while Dolores was in such danger; and yet 
there would have been no object in going to Don 
John's door again, to risk being caught by her father 
or met by the King himself* She had therefore deter- 
mined to let an hour pass before attempting another 
move* So she slipped into the gallery again, and sat 
upon the little wooden bench that had been made for 
the Moorish women in old times; and she listened to 
the music and the sound of the dancers’ feet far below, 
and to the hum of voices, in which she often distin¬ 
guished the name of Don John. She had heard all, — 
the cries when it was thought that he was coming, the 
chamberlain’s voice announcing the King, and then the 
change of key in the sounds that had followed. Lastly, 
she had heard plainly every syllable of her father’s 
speech, so that when she realized what it meant, she 
had shrieked aloud, and had fled from the gallery to 
find her sister if she could, to find Don John’s body 
most certainly where it lay on the marble floor, with 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 255 

the death wound at the breast. Her instinct — she could 
not have reasoned then —told her that her father must 
have found the lovers together, and that in sudden rage 
lie had stabbed Don John, defenceless. 

Dolores’ tears answered her sister’s question well 
enough when the two girls were clasped in one an¬ 
other’s arms at last. There was not a doubt left in the 
mind of either. Inez spoke first. She said that she had 
hidden in the gallery. 

“ Our father must have come in some time after the 
King,” she said, in broken sentences, and almost chok¬ 
ing. “Suddenly the music stopped. I could hear 
every word. He said that he had done it,—-that he 
had murdered Don John, — and then I ran here, for I 
was afraid he had killed you, too.” 

44 Would God he had!” cried Dolores. 44 Would to 
Heaven that I were dead beside the man I love! ” 

“And I! ” moaned Inez pitifully, and she began to 
sob wildly, as Dolores had sobbed at first. 

But Dolores was silent now, as if she had shed all her 
tears at once, and had none left. She held her sister in 
her arms, and soothed her almost unconsciously, as if 
she had been a little child. But her own thoughts were 
taking shape quickly, for she was strong; and after the 
first paroxysm of her grief, she saw the immediate 
future as clearly as the present. When she spoke 
again she had the mastery of her voice, and it was 
clear and low. 

44 You say that our father confessed before the whole 
court that he had murdered Don John?” she said, with a 


m 


XW THE PAIiACM OF THE KING 


question. a What happened then ? Did the King speak 
Was our father arrested? Can yon remember ?” 

u I only heard loud cries,” sobbed Inez. 44 I came to 
you —as quickly as I could —I was afraid.” 

u We shall never see our father again—unless we see 
him on the morning when he is to die.” 

44 Dolores I They will not kill him, too ? ” In sudden 
and greater fear than before, Inez ceased sobbing. 

44 He will die on the scaffold,” answered Dolores, in 
the same clear tone, as if she were speaking in a dream, 
or of things that did not come near her. 44 There is no 
pardon possible. He will die to-morrow or the next 
day.” 

The present truth stood out in all its frightful 
distinctness. Whoever had done the murder—-since 
Mendoza had confessed it, he would be made to die 
for it, — of that she was sure. She could not have 
guessed what had really happened 5 and though the 
evidence of the sounds she had heard through the door 
would have gone to show that Philip had done the deed 
himself, yet there had been no doubt about Mendoza’s 
words, spoken to the King alone over Don John’s dead 
body, and repeated before the great assembly in the 
ball-room. If she guessed at an explanation, it was 
that her father, entering the bedchamber during the 
quarrel, and supposing from what he saw that Don 
John was about to attack the King, had drawn and 
killed the Prince without hesitation. The only thing 
quite clear was that Mendoza was to suffer, and seemed 
strangely determined to suffer, for what he had or had 


A LOVB STORY OF OLD MADRID 2&t 

Bot done. The dark shadow of the scaffold rose before 
Dolores 9 eyes. 

It had seemed impossible that she could be made to 
bear more than she had borne that night, when she had 
fallen upon Don John’s body to weep her heart out for 
her dead love. But she saw that there was more to 
bear, and dimly she guessed that there might be some¬ 
thing for her to do. There was Inez first, and she 
must be cared for and placed in safety, for she was 
beside herself with grief. It was only on that after¬ 
noon by the window that Dolores had guessed the blind 
girl’s secret, which Inez herself hardly suspected even 
now, though she was half mad with grief and utterly 
broken-hearted. 

Dolores felt almost helpless, but she understood that 
she and her sister were henceforth to be more really 
alone in what remained of life than if they had been 
orphans from their earliest childhood. The vision of 
the convent, that had been unbearable but an hour 
since, held all her hope of peace and safety now, unless 
her father could be saved from his fate by some miracle 
of heaven. But that was impossible. He had given 
himself up as if he were determined to die. He had 
been out of his mind, beside himself, stark mad, in 
his fear that Don John might bring harm upon his 
daughter. That was why he had killed him — there 
eould be no other reason, unless he had guessed that 
she was in the locked room, and had judged her then 
and at once, and forever. The thought had not crossed 
her mind till then, and it was a new torture now, so that 


258 


IK THE PALACE OF THE KIKG 


she shrank under it as under a bodily blow * and her 
grasp tightened violently upon her sister’s arm, rousing 
the half fainting girl again to the full consciousness of 
pain. 

Ifc was no wonder that Mendoza should have done 
such a deed, since he had believed her ruined and lost 
to honour beyond salvation. That explained all. He 
had guessed that she had been long with Don John, 
who had locked her hastily into the inner room to hide 
her from the King. Had the King been Don John, 
had she loved Philip as she loved his brother, her father 
would have killed his sovereign as unhesitatingly, and 
would have suffered any death without flinching. She 
believed that, and there was enough of hi a nature in 
herself to understand it. 

She was as innocent as the blind girl who lay in her 
arms, but suddenly it flashed upon her that no one 
would believe it, since her own father would not, and 
that her maiden honour and good name were gone for 
ever, gone with her dead lover, who alone could have 
cleared her before the world. She cared little for the 
court now, but she cared tenfold more earnestly for her 
father’s thought of her, and she knew him and the ter» 
rible tenacity of his conviction when he believed him- 
self to be right. He had proved that by what he had 
done. Since she understood all, she no longer doubted 
that he had killed Don John with the fullest intention, 
to avenge her, and almost knowing that she was within 
hearing, as indeed she had been. He had taken a royal 
life in atonement for her honour, but he was to giva 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 25§ 

his own, and was to die a shameful death on the scaf¬ 
fold, within a few hours, or, at the latest, within a few 
days, for her sake. 

Then she remembered how on that afternoon she had 
seen tears in his eyes, and had heard the tremor in his 
voice when he had said that she was everything to 
him, that she had been all his life since her mother had 
died-—he had proved that, too; and though he had 
killed the man she loved, she shrank from herself again 
as she thought what he must have suffered in her dis¬ 
honour. For it was nothing else. There was neither 
man nor woman nor girl in Spain who would believe 
her innocent against such evidence. The world might 
have believed Don John, if he had lived, because the 
world had loved him and trusted him, and could never 
have heard falsehood in his voice; but it would not 
believe her though she were dying, and though she 
should swear upon the most sacred and true things. 
The world would turn from her with an unbelieving 
laugh, and she was to be left alone in her dishonour, 
and people would judge that she was not even a fit 
companion for her blind sister in their solitude. The 
King would send her to Las Huelgas, or to some other 
distant convent of a severe order, that she might wear 
out her useless life in grief and silence and penance as 
quickly as possible. She bowed her head. It was too 
hard to bear. 

Inez was more quiet now, and the two sat side by side 
in mournful silence, leaning against th6 parapet. They 
had forgotten the dwarf, and he had disappeared, wait* 


£60 IN THE* PALACE OP THE EXNTG 

mg, perhaps, in the shadow at a distance, in case h© 
might be of nse to them. But if he was within hear-" 
ing, they did not see him. At last Inez spoke, almost 
in a whisper, as if she were in the presence of the dead. 

“Were you there, dear? ” she asked. “Did you 
see? ” 

“ I was in the next room,” Dolores answered. “ I 
could not see, but I heard. I heard him fail,” she 
added almost inaudibly, and choking. 

Inez shuddered and pressed nearer to her sister, 
leaning against her, but she did not begin to sob again. 
She was thinking. 

“Can we not help our father, at least?” she asked 
presently. “ Is there nothing we can say, or do? We 
ought to help him if we can, Dolores — though he 
did it.” 

“ I would save him with my life, if I could. God 
knows, I would! He was mad when he struck the 
blow. He did it for my sake, because he thought 
Don John had ruined my good name. And we should 
have been married the day after to-morrow! God of 
heaven, have mercy! ” 

Her grief took hold of her again, like a material 
power, shaking her from head to foot, and bowing her 
down upon herself and wringing her hands together, so 
that Inez, calmer than she, touched her gently and tried 
to comfort her without any words, for there were none 
to say, since nothing mattered now, and life was over 
at its very beginning. Little by little the sharp agony 
subsided to dull pain once more, and Dolores sat up* 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 


right. But Inez was thinking still, and even in her 
sorrow and fright she was gathering all her innocent 
ingenuity to her aid. 

“Is there no way? ” she asked, speaking more to her¬ 
self than to her sister. “ Could we not say that we 
were there, that it was not our father but some one 
else ? Perhaps some one would believe us. If w© told 
the judges that we were quite, quite sure that he did 
not do it, do you not think—-but then, 1 ’ she checked 
herself — “ then it could only have been the King.” 

“ Only the King himself,” echoecKDolores, half un¬ 
consciously, and in a dreamy tone. 

“ That would be terrible,” said Inez. “ But we could 
say that the King was not there, you know — that it 
was some one else, some one we did not know — ” 

Dolores rose abruptly from the seat and laid her 
hand upon the parapet steadily, as if an unnatural 
strength had suddenly grown up in her. Inez went 
on speaking, confusing herself in thu details she was 
trying to put together to make a plain, and losing the 
thread of her idea as she attempted to build up false¬ 
hoods, for she vras truthful as their father was. But 
Dolores did not hear her. 

“You can do nothing, child,” she said at last, in a 
firm tone. “ But X may. You have made me think 
of something that I may do—it is just possible — it 
may help a little. Let me think.” 

Inez waited in silence for her to go on, and Dolores 
stood as motionless as a statue, contemplating in 
thought the step she meant to take if it offered the 


262 IN THE PALACE OP THE KING 

slightest hbpe of saving her father. The though® 
was worthy of her, but the sacrifice was great even 
then. She had not believed that the world still held 
anything with which she would not willingly part, but 
there was one thing yet. It might be taken from her, 
though her father had slain Don John of Austria to 
save it, and was to die for it himself. She could 
give it before she could be robbed of it, perhaps, 
and it might buy his life. She could still forfeit her 
good name of her own free will, and call herself what 
she was not. In words she could give her honour to 
the dead man, and the dead could not rise up and 
deny her nor refuse the gift. And it seemed to her 
that when the people should hear her, they would 
believe her, seeing that it was her shame, a shame such 
as no maiden who had honour left would bear before 
the world. But it was hard to do. For honour was 
her last and only possession now that all was taken 
from her. 

It was not the so-called honour of society, either, 
based on long-forgotten traditions, and depending on 
convention for its being — not the sort of honour within 
which a man may ruin an honest woman and suffer 
no retribution, but which decrees that he must take 
his own life if he cannot pay a debt of play made 
on his promise to a friend, which allows him to lie 
like a cheat, but ordains that he must give or require 
satisfaction of blood for the imaginary insult of a 
hasty word —the honour which is to chivalry what 
black superstition is to the true Christian faith, which 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 


compares with real courage and truth and honesty, m 
an ape compares with a man. It was not that, and 
Dolores knew it, as every maiden knows it 5 for the 
honour of woman is the fact on which the whole world 
turns, and has turned and will turn to the end of 
things \ but what is called the honour of society has 
been a fiction these many centuries, and though it came 
first of a high parentage, of honest thought wedded to 
brave deed, and though there are honourable men yet, 
these are for the most part the few who talk least 
loudly about honour’s code, and the belief they hold has 
come to be a secret and a persecuted faith, at which 
the common gentleman thinks fit to laugh lest some 
one should presume to measure him by it and should 
find him wanting. 

Dolores did not mean to hesitate, after she had 
decided what to do. But she could not avoid the 
struggle, and it was long and hard, though she saw 
the end plainly before her and did not waver. Inez 
did not understand and kept silence while it lasted. 

It was only a word to say, but it was the word which 
would be repeated against her as long as she lived, and 
which nothing she could ever say or do afterwards 
could take back when it had once been spoken — it 
would leave the mark that a lifetime could not efface. 
But she meant to speak it. She could not see what 
her father would see, that he would rather die, justly 
or unjustly, than let his daughter be dishonoured 
before the world. That was a part of a man’s code, 
perhaps, but it should not hinder her from saving hei? 


264 


EK" THE PALACE OF THE KING 


father's life, or trying to, at whatever cost. What she 
was fighting against was something much harder to 
understand in herself. What could it matter now, 
that the world should think her fallen from her 
maiden estate? The world was nothing to her, 
surely. It held nothing, it meant nothing, it was 
nothing. Her world had been her lover, and he lay 
dead in his room. In heaven, he knew that she was 
innocent, as he was himself, and he would see that she 
was going to accuse herself that she might save her 
father. In heaven, he had forgiven his murderer, and 
he would understand. As for the world and what it 
said, she knew that she must leave it instantly, and 
go from the confession she was about to make to the 
convent where she was to die, and whence her spotless 
soul would soon be wafted away to join her true lover 
beyond the earth. There was no reason why she 
should find it hard to do, and yet it was harder than 
anything she had ever dreamed of doing. But she 
was fighting the deepest and strongest instinct of 
woman s nature, and the light went hard. 

She fancied the scene, the court, the grey-haired 
nobles, the fair and honourable women, the brave 
young soldiers, the thoughtless courtiers, the whole 
throng she was about to face, for she meant to speak 
before them all, and to her own shame. She was 
as white as marble, but when she thought of what 
was coming the blood sprang to her face and tingled 
m her forehead, and she felt her eyes fall and her 
proud head bend, as the storm of humiliation de- 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 265 

scended upon her. She could hear beforehand the 
sounds that would follow her words, the sharp, short 
laugh of jealous women who hated her, the murmur 
of surprise among the men. Then the sea of faces 
would seem to rise and fall before her in waves, the 
lights would dance, her cheeks would burn like flames, 
and she would grow dizzy. That would be the end. 
Afterwards she could go out alone. Perhaps the 
women would shrink from her, no man would be brave 
enough to lead her kindly from the room. Yet all 
that she would bear, for the mere hope of saving her 
father. The worst, by far the worst and hardest to 
endure, would be something within herself, for which 
she had neither words nor true understanding, but 
which was more real than anything she could define, 
for it was in the very core of her heart and in the 
secret of her soul, a sort of despairing shame of herself 
and a desolate longing for something she could never 
recover. 

She closed her tired eyes and pressed her hand 
heavily upon the stone coping of the parapet. It was 
the supreme effort, and when she looked down at Inez 
again she knew that she should live to the end of the 
ordeal without wavering. 

“ I am going down to the throne room,” she said, very 
quietly and gen tty. 44 Yon had better go to our apart- 
ment, dear, and wait for me there. I am going to try 
and save our father’s life — do not ask me how. It will 
not take long to say what I have to say, and then I will 
some to you,” 


IN THE PALACE OF THE KING 


Inez had risen now, and was standing beside her, lay* 
ing a hand upon her arm. 

“ Let me come, too,” she said. « I can help you, I 
am sure I can help you.” 

“ No ” answered Dolores, with authority. « You can- 
not help me, dearest, and it would hurt you, and yon 
must not come.” 


Then I will stay here,” said Inez sorrowfully. “ f 
shall be nearer to him,” she added under her breath. 

“Stay here — yes. I will come back to you, and 
then — then we will go in together, and say a prayer — 
Ms soul can hear us still—~ we will go and say good-by 
to him -— together. ” 


Her voice was almost firm, and Inez could not se© 
the agony in her white face. Then Dolores clasped her 
in her arms and kissed her forehead and her blind eyes 
very lovingly, and pressed her head to her own shoulders 
and patted it and smoothed the girl’s dark hair® 

“I will come back,” she said, “and, Inez —you know 
the truth, my darling. Whatever evil they may say 
of me after to-night, remember that I have said it of 
myself for our father’s sake, and that it is not true.” 

“No one will believe it,” answered Inez. “They 
will not believe anything bad of you.” 

64 Then our father must die.” 

Dolores kissed her once more and made her sit down, 
then turned and went away. She walked quickly along 
the corridors and descended the second staircase, to 
enter the throne room by the side door reserved for the 
officers of the household and the maids of honour. 


A LOTS STORY OP OLD MADRID 26T 

Shs walked swiftly, her head erect, one hand holding 1 
the folds of her cloak pressed to her bosom, and the 
other, nervously clenched, and hanging down, as if she 
were expecting to strike a blow. 

She reached the door, and for a moment her heart 
stopped beating, and her eyes closed. She heard many 
loud voices within, and she knew that most of the court 
must still be assembled. It was better that all the 
world should hear her — even the King, if he were 
still there. She pushed the door open and went in by 
the familiar way, letting the dark cloak that covered 
her court dress fall to the ground as she passed the 
threshold. Half a dozen young nobles, grouped near 
the entrance, made way for her to pass. 

When they recognized her, their voices dropped sud¬ 
denly, and they stared after her in astonishment that 
she should appear at such a time. She was doubtless 
in ignorance of what had happened, they thought. As 
for the throng in the hall, there was no restraint upon 
their talk now, and words were spoken freely which 
would have been high treason half an hour earlier 
There was the noise, the tension, the ceaseless talking, 
the excited air, that belong to great palace revolutions. 

The press was closer near the steps of the throne, 
where the King and Mendoza had stood, for after they 
had left the hall, surrounded and protected by the 
guards, the courtiers had crowded upon one another, 
and those near the further door and outside it in the 
outer apartments had pressed in till there was scarcely 
standing r«om on the floor of the hall. Dolores found 


m 


m THE PALACB OF THE KITO 


It bard to advance. Some made way for her with lew 
exclamations of surprise, but others, not looking to &m 
who she was, offered a passive resistance to her move¬ 
ments. 

u Will you kindly let me pass ? ” she asked at last* in 
ft gentle tone. «* I am Dolores de Mendoza."* 

At the name the group that barred her passage started 
and made way, and going through she came upon the 
Prince of Eboli, not far from the steps of the throne. 
The English Ambassador, who meant to stay as long m 
there was anything for him to observe, was still by the 
Prince's side. Dolores addressed the latter without 
hesitation. 

“ Don Ruy Gomez/* she said, “ I ask your help. My 
father is innocent, and I can prove it. But the court 
must hear me-—every one must hear the truth. Will 
you help me ? Can you make them listen ? ” 

Euy Gomez looked down at Dolores* pale and deter¬ 
mined features in courteous astonishment. 

u 1 am at your service/'* he answered. a But what 
are you going to say ? The court is in a dangerous 
mood to-night.” 

I must speak to all,” said Dolores. 46 1 am not 
afraid. What I have to say cannot be said twice — not 
even if I had the strength. 1 can save my father —” 
“Why not go to the King at once?” argued th<$ 
Prince, who feared trouble. 

“ For the love of God, help me to do as I wish l 9 * 
Dolores grasped his arm, and spoke with an effort. 
u Let me tell them all, how I know that my father is 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID TO 

mot guilty of the murder. After that take me to the 
King if yon will." 

She spoke very earnestly, and he no longer opposed 
her. He knew the temper of the court well enough, and 
was sure that whatever proved Mendoza innocent would 
be welcome just then, and though he was far too loyal 
to wish the suspicion of the deed to be fixed upon the 
King, he was too just not to desire Mendoza to be 
exculpated if he were innocent. 

“ Come with me,” he said briefly, and he took Dolores 
by the hand, and led her up the first three steps of the 
platform, so that she could see over the heads of all 
present. 

It was no time to think of court ceremonies or cus« 
toms, for there was danger in the air. Ruy Gomez did 
not stop to make any long ceremony. Drawing himself 
up to his commanding height, he held up his whit© 
gloves at arm’s length to attract the attention of the 
courtiers, and in a few moments there was silence. 
They seemed an hour of torture to Dolores. Ruy 
Gomez raised his voice. 

“ Grandees ! The daughter of Don Diego d© Men* 
doza stands here at my side to prove to you that he is 
innocent of Don John of Austria’s death! w 

The words had hardly left his lips when a shout went 
up, like a ringing cheer. But again he raised his hand. 

M Hear Dona Maria Dolores de Mendoza! ” he cried. 

Then he stepped a little away from Dolores, and 
looked towards her. She was dead white, and her lips 
$«®rabled. There was an almost glassy look in hen- 


27 ® m THE PAIACB OF THE KINO 

©yes, and still she pressed one hand to her bosom, aad 
the other hung by her side, the fingers twitching ner 
vously against the folds of her skirt, A few seconds 
passed before she could speak, 

44 Grandees of Spain! ” she began, and at the first 
words she found strength in her voice so that it 
reached the ends of the hall, clear and vibrating. The 
silence was intense, as she proceeded, 

45 My father has accused himself of a fearful crime. 
He is innocent. He would no more have raised his 
hand against Don John of Austria than against the 
King’s own person. I cannot tell why he wishes tc 
sacrifice his life by taking upon himself the guilt. But 
this I know. He did not do the deed. You ask me 
how I know that, how I can prove it ? I was there, 1 
Dolores de Mendoza, his daughter, was there unseen 
in my lover’s chamber when he was murdered. While 
he was alive I gave him all, my heart, my soul, m:} 
maiden honour 4 ; and I was there to-night, and had been 
with him long* But now that he is dead, I will pay 
for my father’s life with my dishonour. He must not 
die, tor he is innocent. Grandees of Spain, as you are 
men cf honour, he must not die* for he is one of you 
and this foul deed, was not his,” 

She ceased, her lids drooped till her eyes were ha!; 
closed and she swayed a little as she stood. Ruy 
Gomez made one long stride and held her, for he 
thought she was fainting. But she bit her lips, mi 
forced her eyes to open and face the crowd again. 

be That is all/* she said in a low voice, but distinctly-. 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 


271 


86 It is done, I am a ruined woman. Help me to go 
out.” 

The old Prince gently led her down the steps. The 
silence had lasted long after she had spoken, but 
people were beginning to talk again in lower tones. 
It was as she had foreseen it. She heard a scornful 
woman's laugh, and as she passed along, she saw how 
the older ladies shrank from her and how the young 
ones eyed her with a look of hard curiosity, as if 
she were some wild creature, dangerous to approach, 
though worth seeing from a distance. 

But the men pressed close to her as she passed, and 
ghe heard them tell each other that she was a brave 
woman who could dare to save her fathei by such 
means, and there were quick applauding words as she 
passed, and one said audibly that he could die for a 
girl who had such a true heart, and another answered 
that he would marry her if she could forget Don John. 
And they did not speak without respect, but in earnest, 
Mid out of the fulness of their admiration. 

At last she was at the door, and she paused to speak 
before going out. 

a Have I saved his life ? ” she asked, looking up to 
the old Prince's kind face. w Will they believe me ? ” 

64 They believe you,” he answered. “ But your 
father's life is in the King’s hands. You should go 
to his Majesty without wasting time. Shall I go with 
jou? He will see you, I think, if I ask it.” 

64 Why should I tell the King ? ” asked Dolores. 
r/ - He was there —he saw it all —he knows the truth/"* 

She hardly realized what she was saying. 


CHAPTER XVI 


Ruy Gomez was as loyal, in liis way, as Mendoza 
himself, but his loyalty was of a very different sort, 
for it was tempered by a diplomatic spirit which made 
it more serviceable on ordinary occasions, and its object 
was altogether a principle rather than a person. Men¬ 
doza could not conceive of monarchy, in its abstract, 
without a concrete individuality represented by King 
Philip; but Ruy Gomez could not imagine the world 
without the Spanish monarchy, though he was well able 
to gauge his sovereign’s weaknesses and to deplore his 
crimes. He himself was somewhat easily deceived, as 
good men often are, and it was he who had given the 
King his new secretary, Antonio Perez; yet from the 
moment when Mendoza had announced Don John’s 
death, he had been convinced that the deed had either 
been done by Philip himself or by his orders, and that 
Mendoza had bravely sacrificed himself to shield his 
master. What Dolores had said only confirmed his 
previous opinion, so far as her father’s innocence was 
at stake. As for her own confession, he believed it, 
and in spite of himself he could not help admiring the 
girl’s heroic courage. Dolores might have been in reality 
ten times worse than she had chosen to represent herself; 
she would still have been a model of all virtue 
272 


com- 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 273 

pared with his own wife, though he did not know half 
of the Princess’s doings, and was certainly ignorant 
of her relations with the King. 

He was not at all surprised when Dolores told him 
at the door that Philip knew the truth about the sup¬ 
posed murder, but he saw how dangerous it might be 
for Dolores to say as much to others of the court. She 
wished to go away alone, as she had come, but he 
insisted on going with her. 

“ You must see his Majesty,” he said authoritatively. 
“ I will try to arrange it at once. And I entreat you 
to be discreet, my dear, for your father’s sake, if not 
for any other reason. You have said too much already. 
It was not wise of you, though it showed amazing cour¬ 
age. You are your father’s own daughter in that — 
he is one of the bravest men I ever knew in my life.” 

44 It is easy to be brave when one is dead already! ” 
said Dolores, in low tones. 

“ Courage, my dear, courage! ” answered the old 
Prince, in a fatherly tone, as they went along. “You 
are not as brave as you think, since you talk of death. 
Your life is not over yet.” 

“ There is little left of it. I wish it were ended 
already.” 

She could hardly speak, for an inevitable and over¬ 
whelming reaction had followed on the great effort she 
had made. She put out her hand and caught her com¬ 
panion’s arm for support. He led her quickly to the 
small entrance of the King’s apartments, by which it 
was his privilege to pass in. They reached a small 


2T4 IM THE PALACE OF THE HOT€ 

waiting-room where there were & few chairs Midi & 
marble table, on which two big wax candles were burn¬ 
ing, Dolores sank into a seat, and leaned back, closing 
her eyes, while Ruy Gomez went into the antechamber 
beyond and exchanged a few words with the chamber- 
lain on duty. He came back almost immediately, 

64 Your father is alone with the King,” he said, U W@ 
must wait.” 

Dolores scarcely heard what he said, and did not 
change her position nor open her eyes. The old man 
looked at her, sighed, and sat down near a brazier of 
wood coals, over which he slowly warmed his transpar 
ent hands, from time to time turning his rings slowly 
on his fingers, as if to warm them, too. Outside, 
the chamberlain in attendance walked slowly up 
and down, again and again passing the open door, 
through which he glanced at Dolores’ face. The 
antechamber was little more than a short, broad corri¬ 
dor, and led to the King’s study. This corridor had 
other doors, however, and it was through it that the 
King’s private rooms communicated with the hall of 
the royal apartments. 

As Ruy Gomez had learned, Mendoza was with 
Philip, but not alone. The old officer was standing on 
one side of the room, erect and grave, and King Philip 
sat opposite him, in a huge chair, his still eyes staring 
at the fire that blazed in the vast chimney, and sent 
sudden flashes of yellow through the calm atmosphere 
of light shed by a score of tall candles. At a table on 
one side sat Antonio Perez, the Secretary. He was pro 


A LOYE STOBY OF OLD MADKID 275 

vided with writing materials and appeared to be taking 
down the conversation as it proceeded. Philip asked a 
question from time to time, which Mendoza answered 
in a strange voice unlike his own, and between the 
questions there were long intervals of silence. 

“You say that you had long entertained feelings 
of resentment against his Highness,” said the King. 
“ You admit that, do you ?” 

“ I beg your Majesty’s pardon. I did not say resent- 
ment. I said that I had long looked upon his High¬ 
ness’s passion for my daughter with great anxiety.” 

“Is that what he said, Perez?” asked Philip, speak¬ 
ing to the Secretary without looking at him. “Read 
that.” 

“ He said: I have long resented his Highness’s ad¬ 
miration for my daughter,” answered Perez, reading 
from his notes. 

“ You see,” said the King. “ You resented it. That 
is resentment. I was right. Be careful, Mendoza, for 
your words may be used against you to-morrow. Say 
precisely what you mean, and nothing but what you 
mean.” 

Mendoza inclined his head rather proudly, for he 
detested Antonio Perez, and it appeared to him that the 
King was playing a sort of comedy for the Secretary’s 
benefit. It seemed an unworthy interlude in what was 
really a solemn tragedy. 

“Why did you resent his Highness’s courtship of 
your daughter ? ” enquired Philip presently, continu¬ 
ing his cross-examination. 


ssn or THE PALACE OF THE KOTG 

44 Because I never believed, that there could be a real 
marriage,” answered Mendoza boldly. “I believed 
that ray child must become the toy and plaything of 
Don John, of Austria, or else that if his Highness mar ¬ 
ried her, the marriage would soon be declared void, m 
order that he might marry a more important personage.” 

44 Set that down,” said the King to Ferez, in a sharp 
tone. 44 Set that down exactly. It is important.” He 
waited till the Secretary's pen stopped before he went 
on. His next question came suddenly. 

46 How could a marriage consecrated by our holy 
religion ever be declared null and void?” 

44 Easily enough, if your Majesty wished it,” answered 
Mendoza unguardedly, for his temper was slowly 
heating. 

44 Write down that answer, Perez. In other words* 
Mendoza, you think that I have no respect for the sac- 
rament of marriage, which I would at any time cause 
to be revoked to suit my political purposes. Is that 
what you think ? ” 

44 1 did not say that, Sire. I said that even if Don 
John married my daughter — 99 

44 1 know quite well what you said/’ interrupted the 
King suavely. 44 Perez has got every word of it on 
paper. ” 

The Secretary’s bad black eyes looked up from his 
writing, and he slowly nodded as he looked at Men¬ 
doza. He understood the situation perfectly, though 
the soldier was far too honourable to suspect the truth. 

64 1 have confessed publicly that I killed Don Job© 


A mvm ST0BY OF OUB MABtem iff 

Jefenfeeless,” lie said, in rough tones* tt Is &ot that 

anough? ” 

M Oh, no T” Philip almost smiled, u That Is not 
>35H>ugh. We must also know why you committed such 
in abominable crime. You do not seem to understand 
that in taking your evidence here my sell I am sparing 
you the indignity of an examination before a tribunal* 
and under torture —in all probability* You ought to 
he very grateful, my dear Mendoza.” 

46 1 thank your Majesty,** said the hmm old sold* 
coldly, 

44 That is right. So we know that your hatred of 
his Highness was of long standing, and you had prob¬ 
ably determined some time ago that yon would murder 
him on his return. ” The King paused a moment and 
then continued, 44 Do you deny that on this very 
afternoon you swore that if Don John attempted to 
see your daughter, you would kill him at once ? ” 

Mendoza was taken by surprise, and his haggard eyas 
opened wide as he stared at Philip. 

44 You said that, did you not ? ” asked the King, in¬ 
sisting upon the point. 44 On your honour, did yon 
my it?”' 

44 Yes, I said that,” answered Mendoza at last® 44 Bui 
how did your Majesty know that I did ? ” 

The King’s enormous under lip thrust itself forward, 
and two ugly lines of amusement were drawn m his 
colourless cheeks. His jaw moved slowly, as if he wera 
biting something of which he found the taste agreeably 

44 1 know everything,” he said slowly. 44 1 am wall 


'178 m THE PALACE OF THE KOTG? 

served in my own house. Perez, be careful. Writ© 
down every thing. We also know, I think, that your 
daughter met his Highness this evening. You no 
doubt found that out as others did. The girl is im¬ 
prudent. Do you confess to knowing that the two had 
met this evening ? ” 

Mendoza ground his teeth as if he were suffering 
bodily torture. His brows contracted, and as Peres 
looked up, he faced him with such a look of hatred 
and anger that the Secretary could not meet his 
eyes. The King was a sacred and semi-divine per¬ 
sonage, privileged to ask any question he chose and 
theoretically incapable of doing wrong, but it was 
unbearable that this sleek black fox should have the 
right to hear Diego de Mendoza confess his daughter’^ 
dishonour. Antonio Perez was not an adventurer ot 
low birth, as many have gratuitously supposed, for 
his father had held an honourable post at court be¬ 
fore him ; but he was very far from being the equal 
of one who, though poor and far removed from the 
head of his own family, bore one of the most noble 
names in Spain. 

51 Let your Majesty dismiss Don Antonio Perez,” 
said Mendoza boldly. 64 1 will then tell your Maj 
esty all I know.” 

Perez smiled as he bent oyer his notes, for he knew 
what the answer would be to such a demand. It 
came sharply. 

44 It- is not the privilege of a man convicted of 
SBLUffder to choose his hearers. Answer mj questions 



A I;OYE STOBY OF OLD MADE,ID IT© 

or be silent. Do yon confess that yon knew of yonr 
daughter’s meeting with Don John this evening ?” 

Mendoza’s lips set themselves tightly under his 
grey beard, and he uttered no sound. He inter¬ 
preted the King’s words literally. 

44 Well, what have you to say ? ” 

44 Nothing, Sire, since I have your Majesty’s per¬ 
mission to be silent.” 

44 It does not matter,” said Philip indifferently. 
44 Note that he refuses to answer the question, Perez. 
Note that this is equivalent to confessing the fact, 
since he would otherwise deny it. His silence is a 
reason, however, for allowing the case to go to the 
tribunal to be examined in the usual way — the usual 
way,” he repeated, looking hard at Mendoza and 
emphasizing the words strongly. 

44 Since I do not deny the deed, I entreat your 
Majesty to let me suffer for it quickly. I am ready 
to die, God knows. Let it be to-morrow morning 
or to-night. Your Majesty need only sign the war¬ 
rant for my execution, which Don Antonio Perez 
has, no doubt, already prepared.” 

44 Not at all, not at all,” answered the King, with 
horrible coolness. 44 1 mean that you shall have a 
fair and open trial and every possible opportunity 
of justifying yourself. There must be nothing secret 
about this. So horrible a crime must be treated in 
the most public manner. Though it is very painful 
to me to refer to such a matter, you must remember 
that after it had pleased Heaven, in its infinite jus- 


280 


m THE PALACE OP THE KING 


tice, to bereave me of my unfortunate, son, Don Car¬ 
los, the heir to the throne, there were not wanting 
ill-disposed and wicked persons who actually said that 
I had caused his life to be shortened by various in¬ 
human cruelties. No, no! we cannot have too much 
publicity. Consider how terrible a thing it would 
be if any one should dare to suppose that my own 
brother had been murdered with my consent! You 
should love your country too much not to fear such 
a result; for though you have murdered my brother 
in cold blood, I am too just to forget that you have 
proved your patriotism through a long and hitherto 
honourable career. It is my duty to see that the 
causes of your atrocious action are perfectly clear 
to my subjects, so that no doubt may exist even in 
the most prejudiced minds. Do you understand? I 
repeat that if I have condescended to examine you 
alone, I have done so only out of a merciful desire to 
spare an old soldier the suffering and mortification 
of an examination by the tribunal that is to judge you. 
Understand that.” 

“I understand that and much more besides,” an¬ 
swered Mendoza, in low and savage tones. 

“ It is not necessary that you should understand or 
think that you understand anything more than what 
I say,” returned the King coldly. “ At what time did 
you go to his Highness’s apartments this evening?” 

“Your Majesty knows.” 

“I know nothing of it,” said the King, with the 
utmost calm. “You were on duty after supper. You 



JL LCYB STORY OW OLD MADRID figj, 

escorted me to my apartment® afterwards. I had 
already sent for Perez, who came at once, and w© 
remained here, busy with affairs, until I returned to 
the throne room, five minutes before you came and 
confessed the murder; did we not, Perez?” 

“ Most certainly, Sire,” answered the Secretary 
gravely. “ Your Majesty must have been at work 
with me an hour, at least, before returning to the 
throne room.” 

“And your Majesty did not go* with me by th© 
private staircase to Don John of Austria's apart¬ 
ment ? ” asked Mendoza, thunderstruck by the enor¬ 
mous falsehood. 

“With you?” cried the King, in admirably feigned 
astonishment. “What madness is this? Do not write 
that down, Perez. I really believe the man is beside 
himself! ” 

Mendoza groaned aloud, for he saw that he had 
been frightfully deceived. In his magnificent gener¬ 
osity, he had assumed the guilt of the crime, being 
ready and willing to die for it quickly to save th© 
King from blame - and to put an end to his own 
miserable existence. But he had expected death 
quickly, mercifully, within a few hours. Had h© 
suspected what Philip had meant to do, — that h© 
was to be publicly tried for a murder he had not 
committed, and held up to public hatred and igno¬ 
miny for days and perhaps weeks together, while s 
slow tribunal dragged out its endless procedure,— 
neither his loyalty nor his desire for death #©uld 


$82 IN THE PALACE OF THE KING 

have had power to bring his pride to such a sacri¬ 
fice* And now he saw that he was caught in a 
vise, and that no accusation he could bring against 
the King could save him, even if he were willing 
to resort to such a measure and so take back his 
word* There was no witness for him but himself, 
Don John was dead, and the infamous Perez was 
ready to swear that Philip had not left the room 
in which they had been closeted together. There 
was not a living being to prove that Mendoza had 
not gone alone to Don John’s apartments with th© 
deliberate intention of killing him. He had, indeed, 
been to the chief steward’s office in search of a key, 
saying that the King desired to have it and waa 
waiting; but it would be said that he had used the 
King’s authority to try and get the key for himself 
because he knew that his daughter was hidden in 
the locked room* He had foolishly fancied that the 
King would send for him and see him alone before 
he died, that his sovereign would thank him for the 
service that was costing his life, would embrace him 
and send him to his death for the good of Spain 
and the divine right of monarchy. Truly, he had 
been most bitterly deceived, 

a You said,” continued Philip mercilessly, that you 
killed his Highness when he was unarmed. Is that 
true ? ” 

u His Highness was unarmed,” said Mendoza, almost 
through his closed teeth, for he was suffering beyond 
words* 





In the Palace of the King. A Goldwyn Cosmopolitan Picture. 

DOLORES TELLS HER BLIND SISTER INEZ OF HER LOVE FOR DON JOHN. 

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A LOVE STQBY OF OLD MABEID 2S3 

“Unarmed,” repeated tlie King, nodding to Perez, 
who wrote rapidly. “Yon might have given him a 
chance for his life. It would have been more soldier¬ 
like. Had you any words before you drew upon him ? 
Was there any quarrel?” 

“None. We did not speak to each other.” Men¬ 
doza tried to make Philip meet his eyes, but the King 
would not look at him. 

“ There was no altercation,” said the King, looking 
at Perez. “ That proves that the murder was premedi- 
tated. Put it down — it is very important. You could 
hardly have stabbed him in the back, I suppose. He 
must have turned when he heard you enter. Where 
was the wound ? ” 

44 The wound that killed his Highness will be found 
near the heart.” 

44 Cruel! ” Philip looked down at his own hands, 
and he shook his head very sadly. “Cruel, most 
cruel,” he repeated in a low tone. 

“ I admit that it was a very cruel deed,” said Men¬ 
doza, looking at him fixedly. “ In that, your Majesty 
is right.” 

“ Did you see your daughter before or after you had 
committed the murder? ” asked the King calmly. 

“ I have not seen my daughter since the murder was 
committed.” 

“ But you saw her before ? Be careful, Perez. Write 
down every word. You say that you saw your daugh¬ 
ter before you did it.” 

u I did not say that,” answered Mendoza firmly. 


m THE- PALACE OF THE TO 

u It makes very little difference,” said the King. 
m If you had seen her with his Highness, the murder 
would have seemed less cold-blooded, that is all. 
There would then have been something like a natural 
provocation for it.” 

There was a low sound, as of some one scratching 
at the door. That was the usual way of asking admit¬ 
tance to the King's room on very urgent matters. 
Perez rose instantly, the King nodded to him, and ha 
went to the door. On opening, some one handed Mm 
a folded paper on a gold salver. He brought it to 
Philip, dropped on one knee very ceremoniously, and 
presented it. Philip took the note and opened it* and 
Perez returned to his seat at once. 

The King unfolded the small sheet carefully. The 
room was so full of light that he could read it wher^ 
he sat, without moving. His eyes followed the linea 
quickly to the end, and returned to the beginning, and 
he read the missive again more carefully. Not the 
slightest change of expression was visible in his face, 
as he folded the paper neatly again m the exact shape 
in which he had received it. Than ha remained silent 
a few moments. Perez held his pen ready to writ©, 
moving it mechanically now and then m if he war© 
writing in the air, and staring at the Sire, absorbed m 
his own thoughts, though his ear was on the alert, 

64 You refuse to admit that you found your daughter 
and Don John together, then ? ” The King spoke witi 
an interrogation 

64 1 did not had them together/" answered Menders 


a mrwm story of olb mjlbrib 28 $ 

have said so,” He was becoming exasperated 
under the protracted cross-examination, 

“ You have not said so. My memory is very good, 
but if it should fail we have everything written down. 
I believe you merely refused to answer when I asked if 
you knew of their meeting «— which meant that you 
did know of it. Is that it, Perez?” 

“Exactly so* Sire.” The Secretary had already 
found the place among his notes. 

“ Do you persistently refuse to admit that you had 
positive evidence of your daughters guilt before the 
murder? ” 

“ T will not admit* that, Sire, for it would not fee 
true.” 

“Your daughter has given her evidence since,” s id 
the King, holding up the folded note, and fixing his 
eyes at last on his victim's face. If it were possible, 
Mendoza turned more ashy pale than before, and he 
started perceptibly at the King" words. 

“ I shall never believe that 1 ” he cried in a voice 
winch nevertheless betrayed his terror for his child. 

“ A few moments before this note was written,” said 
Philip calmly, “your daughter entered the throne 
room, and addressed the court, standing upon the steps 
of the throne —a very improper proceeding and one 
which Huy Gomez should net have allowed. Your 
daughter Dolores —is that the girl’s name? Yes, 
Your daughter Dolores, amidst the most profound si= 
lence, confessed that she—it Is so- monstrous that I can 
hardly bring myself to mj fit— that slse had yielded 


166 US' THE PALACE OF THE KINO 

k> the importunities of his late Highness, that sh© was 
with him in his room a long time this evening, and 
that, in fact, she was actually in his bedchamber wheat 
he was murdered.” 

“ It is a lie I ” cried Mendoza vehemently. u It is m 
abominable lie -— she was not in the room! ” 

“She has said that she was,” answered Philip. 
“You can hardly suppose a girl capable of inventing 
such damning evidence against herself, even for the sake 
of saving her own father. She added that his High¬ 
ness was not killed by you. But that is puerile. Sh© 
evidently saw you do it, and has boldly confessed that 
she was in the room — hidden somewhere, perhaps, 
since you absolutely refuse to admit that you saw her 
there. It is quite clear that you found the two to¬ 
gether and that you killed his Highness before your 
daughter’s eyes. Why not admit that, Mendoza ? It 
makes you seem a little less cold-blooded. The provo¬ 
cation was great — ” 

“ She was not there,” protested Mendoza, interrupt¬ 
ing the King, for he hardly knew what he was doing. 

“ She was there, since she confesses to have been in 
the room. I do not tolerate interruption when I am 
speaking. She was there, and her evidence will b© 
considered. Even if you did not see her, how can you 
be sure that your daughter was not there ? Did you 
search the room ? Did you look behind the curtains ? ” 

“I did not.” The stern old man seemed to shrink 
bodily under the frightful humiliation to which he wm 
gubjectecL 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 287 

u Yery well, then you cannot swear that sha was act 
la the room,. But you did not see her there. Then 
1 am sorry to say that there can have been no extenuat¬ 
ing circumstances* You entered Ms Highness's bed- 
chamber, you did not even speak to him, you drew 
your sword and you killed him* All this shows that 
you went there fully determined to commit the crime. 
But with regard to its motive, this strange confession 
of your daughter’s makes that quite clear,, She had 
been extremely imprudent with Don John, you were 
aware of the fact, and you revenged yourself in the 
most brutal way. Such vengeance never can produce 
any but the most fatal results. You yourself must die, 
m the first place, a degrading and painful death on the 
scaffold, and you die leaving behind you a ruined girl, 
who must bury herself in a convent and never be seen 
by her worldly equals again. And besides that, you 
have deprived your King of a beloved brother, and 
Spain of her most brilliant general. Could anything 
be worse ? ” 

“ Yes. There are worse things than that, your 
Majesty, and worse things have been done. It would 
have been a thousand times worse if I had done the 
deed and cast the blame of it on a man s© devoted to 
me that he would bear the guilt in my stead, and a 
hundred thousand times worse if I had then held up 
that man to the execration of mankind, and tortured 
him with every distortion of evidence which great 
falsehoods can put upon a little truth. That would 
indeed have been far worse than anything I have dona 


IK THE PALACE OF THE &IH0 


God may find forgiveness for murderers, but ther© Is 
only hell for traitors, and the hell of hells is the plac© 
of men who betray their friends.” 

“His mind is unsettled, I fear,” said the Kmg s 
speaking to Perez. “These are signs of madness.” 

“ Indeed I fear so, Sire,” answered the smooth Secre¬ 
tary, shaking his head solemnly. M He does not know 
what he says.” 

“ I am not mad, and I know what I am saying, for 
I am a man under the hand of death.” Mendoza’s 
eyes glared at the King savagely as he spoke, and then 
at Perez, but neither could look at him, for neither 
dared to meet his gaze. “ As for this confession my 
daughter has made, I do not believe in it. But if sh© 
has said these things, you might have let me die with¬ 
out the bitterness of knowing them, since that was in 
your power. And God knows that I have staked my 
life freely for your Majesty and for Spain these many 
years, and would again if I had it to lose instead of 
having thrown it away. And God knows, too, that 
for what I have done, be it good or bad, I will bear 
whatsoever your Majesty shall choose to say to m© 
alone in the way of reproach. But as I am a dying 
man I will not forgive that scribbler there for having 
seen a Spanish gentleman’s honour torn to rags, and an 
old soldier’s last humiliation, and I pray Heaven with 
my dying breath, that he may some day be tormented 
as he has seen me tormented, and worse, till he shall 
cry out for mercy — as I will not I ” 

The cruelly injured man’s prayer was answered eight 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MABRSB 289 

years from that day, and even now Perez turned slowly 
pale as he heard the words, for they were spoken with 
all the vehemence of a dying man’s curse. But Philip 
was unmoved He was probably not making Mendoza 
suffer merely for the pleasure of watching his pain, 
though others* suffering seems always to have caused 
him a sort of morbid satisfaction. What he desired 
most was to establish a logical reason for which Men¬ 
doza might have committed the crime, lest in the 
absence of sound evidence he himself should be sus- 
pected of having instigated it. He had no intention 
whatever of allowing Mendoza to be subjected to 
torture during the trial that was to ensue. On the 
contrary, he intended to prepare all the evidence for 
the judges and to prevent Mendoza from saying any- 
thing in self-defence* To that end it was necessary 
that the facts elicited should be clearly connected from 
first cause to final effect, and by the skill of Antonio 
Perez in writing down only the words which contributed 
to that end, the King’s purpose was now accomplished. 
He heard every word of Mendoza’s imprecation and 
thought it proper to rebuke him for speaking so 
freely. 

“You forget ^ourselx sir,” he said coldly. “Don 
Antonio Perez is my yrvate Secretary, and you must 
respect him. Wbile you belonged to the court his 
position was higher and more important than your 
own; now that you stand convicted ot an outrageous 
murder in cold blood, you need not forget that he is an 
innocent man. I have done, Mendoza. You will not 


290 m THE PALACE OF THE KING 

see me again, for you will be kept in confinement until 
your trial, which can only have one issue,, Come 
here.” 

He sat upright in his chair and held out his hand, 
while Mendoza approached with unsteady steps, and 
knelt upon one knee, as was the custom. 

“1 am not unforgiving,” said the King. “ Forgive¬ 
ness is a very beautiful Christian virtue, which we are 
taught to exercise from our earliest childhood. You 
have cut off my dearly loved brother in the flower of 
his youth, but you shall not die believing that I bear 
you any malice. So far as 1 am able, I freely forgive 
you for what you have done, and in token I give you 
my hand, that you may have that comfort at the last.” 

With incredible calmness Philip took Mendoza’s 
hand as he spoke, held it for a moment in his, and 
pressed it almost warmly at the last words. The old 
man’s loyalty to his sovereign had been a devotion 
almost amounting to real adoration, and bitterly as he 
had suffered throughout the terrible interview, he 
well-nigh forgot every suffering as he felt the pressure 
of the royal fingers. In an instant he had told himself 
that it had all been but a play, necessary to deceive 
Perez, and to clear the King from suspicion before the 
world, and that in this sense the unbearable agony 
he had borne had served his sovereign. He forgot all 
for a moment, and bending his iron-grey head, he 
kissed the thin and yellow hand fervently, and looked 
up to Philip’s cold face and felt that there were tears 
of gratitude in his own eyes, of gratitude at being 



A LOVE STOBY OW OLD MAD11ID 291 

allowed to leave the world he hated with the certainty 
that his death was to serve his sovereign idol. 

“ I shall be faithful to your Majesty until the end,** 
he said simply, as the King withdrew his fingers, and 
he rose to his feet. 

The King nodded slowly, and his stony look 
watched Mendoza with a sort of fixed curiosity. Even 
he had not known that such men lived. 

“ Call the guards to the door, Perez,” he said coldly. 
“Tell the officer to take Don Diego Mendoza to the 
west tower for to night, and to treat him with every 
consideration. n 

Perez obeyed. A detachment of halberdiers with 
an officer were stationed in the short, broad corridor 
that led to the room where Dolores was waiting. Perez 
gave the lieutenant his orders. 

Mendoza walked backwards to the door from the 
King’s presence, making three low bows as he went. 
At the door he turned, taking no notice of the Secre^ 
tary, marched out with head erect, and gave himself 
up to the soldiers. 


CHAPTER XVII 


The halberdiers closed round their old chief, but did 
not press upon him. Three went before him, three be¬ 
hind, and one walked on each side, and the lieutenant 
led the little detachment. The men were too much 
accustomed to seeing courtiers in the extremes of 
favour and disfavour to be much surprised at the arrest 
of Mendoza, and they felt no great sympathy for him. 
He had always been too rigidly exacting for their taste, 
and they longed for a younger commander who should 
devote more time to his own pleasure and less to in¬ 
specting uniforms and finding fault with details. Yet 
Mendoza had been a very just man, and he possessed 
the eminently military bearing and temper which always 
impose themselves on soldiers. At the present moment, 
too, they were more inclined to pity him than to treat 
him roughly, for if they did not guess what had really 
taken place, they were quite sure that Don John of 
Austria had been murdered by the King’s orders, like 
Don Carlos and Queen Isabel and a fair number of 
other unfortunate persons ; and if the King had chosen 
Mendoza to do the deed, the soldiers thought that he 
was probably not meant to suffer for it in the end, and 
that before long he would be restored to his command. 
It would, therefore, be the better for them, later, if they 
292 


JA. LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 


298 


showed him a certain deference in his misfortune. 
Besides, they had heard Antonio Perez tell their officer 
that Mendoza was to be treated with every considera¬ 
tion. 

They marched in time, with heavy tread and the 
swinging gait to right and left that is natural to a sol¬ 
dier who carries for a weapon a long halberd with a very 
heavy head. Mendoza was as tall as any of them, and 
kept their step, holding his head high. He was bare¬ 
headed, but was otherwise still in the complete uniform 
he wore when on duty on state occasions. 

The corridor, which seemed short on account of its 
breadth and in comparison with the great size of the 
halls in the palace, was some thirty paces long and 
lighted by a number of chandeliers that hung from 
the painted vault. The party reached the door of the 
waiting room and halted a moment, while one of 
the King’s footmen opened the doors wdde. Don Ruy 
Gomez and Dolores were waiting within. The servant 
passed rapidly through to open the doors beyond. Ruy 
Gomez stood up and drew his chair aside, somewhat 
surprised at the entrance of the soldiers, who rarely 
passed that way. Dolores opened her eyes at the sound 
of marching, but in the uncertain light of the candles 
she did not at first see Mendoza, half hidden as he was 
by the men who guarded him. She paid little attention, 
for she was accustomed to seeing such detachments of 
halberdiers marching through the corridors when the 
sentries were relieved, and as she had never been in the 
King’s apartments she was not surprised by the suddeis 


294 


IN THE PALACE OF THE KING 


appearance of the soldiers, as her companion was. Boll 
as the latter made way for them he lifted his hat, which 
as a Grandee he wore even in the King’s presence, and 
he bent his head courteously as Mendoza went by. He 
hoped that Dolores would not see her father, but his 
own recognition of the prisoner had attracted her atten¬ 
tion. She sprang to her feet with a cry. Mendoza 
turned his head and saw her before she could reach 
bim. for she was moving forward. He stood still, and 
the soldiers halted instinctively and parted before her, 
for they all knew their commander’s daughter. 

“ Father ! ” she cried, and she tried to take his hand. 
But he pushed her away and turned his face reso- 
lutely towards the door before him. 

64 Close up l Forward — march ! ” he said, in hi& 
harsh tone of command. 

The men obeyed, gently forcing Dolores aside. 
They made two steps forward, but Ruy Gomez stopped 
them by a gesture, standing in their way and raising 
one hand, while he laid the other on the young lieu¬ 
tenant’s shoulder. Ruy Gomez was one of the great¬ 
est personages in Spain; he was the majorduomo of 
the palace, and had almost unlimited authority. But 
the officer had his orders directly from the King and 
felt bound to carry them out to the letter. 

44 His Majesty has directed me to convey Don Diego 
de Mendoza to the west tower without delay,” he said, 
44 1 beg your Excellency to let us proceed,” 

Ruy Gomez still held him by the shoulder with a 
gentle pressure. 


A LOVE STOBY OF OLD MADBID 295 

w Tliat I will not,” he said firmly; 46 and if you are 
blamed for being slow in the execution of your duty, 
say that Ruy Gomez de Silva hindered you, and fear 
nothing. It is not right that father and daughter 
should part as these two are parting.” 

“ I have nothing to say to my daughter,” said Men* 
doza harshly; but the words seemed to hurt him. 

46 Don Diego,” answered Ruy Gomez, 44 the deed of 
which you have accused yourself is as much worse than 
anything your child has done as hatred is worse than 
love. By the right of mere humanity I take upon 
myself to say that you shall be left here a while with 
your daughter, that you may take leave of one an¬ 
other,” He turned to the officer. 44 Withdraw your 
men, sir,” he said. 44 Wait at the door. You have 
my word for the security of your prisoner, and my 
authority for what you do. I will call you when it 
is time.” 

He spoke in a tone that admitted of no refusal, and 
he was obeyed. The officers and the men filed out, 
and Ruy Gomez closed the door after them. He him« 
self re-crossed the room and went out by the other 
way into the broad corridor. He meant to wait there. 
His orders had been carried out so quickly that Mem 
doza found himself alone with Dolores, almost as by 
a surprise. In his desperate mood he resented what 
Ruy Gomez had done, ns an interference in his family 
affairs, and he bent his bushy brows together as h© 
stood facing Dolores, with folded arms. Four hours 
had not passed since they had last spoken together 


i98 m THE PALACE OF THE KING 

®Ion© in his own dwelling* there was a lifetime of 
tragedy between that moment and this, 

Dolores had not spoken since he had pushed her 
away. She stood beside a chair, resting one hand upon 
it, dead white, with the dark shadow of pain under her 
eyes, her lips almost colourless, but firm, and evenly 
closed. There were lines of suffering in her young 
face that looked as if they never could be effaced. It 
seemed to her that the worst conflict of all was raging 
in her heart as she watched her father’s face, waiting 
for the sound of his voice; and as for him, he would 
rather have gone back to the King’s presence to b© 
tormented under the eyes of Antonio Perez than stand 
there, forced to see her and speak to her. In his eyes, 
in the light of what he had been told, she was a ruined 
and shameless woman, who had deceived him day in, 
day out, for more than two years. And to her, so far 
as she could understand, he was the condemned mur¬ 
derer of the man she had so innocently and truly 
loved. But yet, she had a doubt, and for that possi¬ 
bility, she had cast her good name to the winds in the 
hope of saving his life. At one moment, in a vision 
of dread, she saw his armed hand striking at her 
lover — at the next she felt that he could never have 
struck the blow, and that there was an unsolved mys» 
tery behind it all. Never were two innocent human 
beings so utterly deceived, each about the other. 

u father,” she said, at last, in a trembling tone, 66 can 
you not speak to me, if I can find heart to hear you ? w 
44 What can we two say to each other ?” he asked 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 


aw 


sternly , 44 Why did you stop me ? I am ready to di© 
for killing the man who ruined you, 1 am glad. Why 
should I say anything to you, and what words can you 
have for me? I hope your end may come quickly, 
with such peace as you can find from your shame at 
the last. That is what I wish for you, and it is a 
good wish, for you have made death on the scaffold 
look easy to me, so that i long for it. Do you under¬ 
stand ? ” 

44 Condemned to death ! n she cried out, almost inco~ 
herently, before he had finished speaking, 44 But they 
cannot condemn you — I have told them that I wag 
there — that it was not you — they must believe me — 
O God of mercy ! ” 

44 They believe you — yes. They believe that I found 
you together and killed him. I shall be tried by 
judges, but I am condemned beforehand, and I must 
die.” He spoke calmly enough. “Your mad confer 
gion before the court only made my conviction more 
certain,” he said, “It gave the reason for the deed 
-— and it burned away the last doubt I had. If they 
are slow in trying me, you will have been before the 
executioner, for he will find me dead —by your hand. 
You might have spared me that—and spared your¬ 
self. You still had the remnant of a good name, and 
your lover being dead, you might have worn the rag 
of your honour still. You have chosen to throw it 
away, and let me know my full disgrace before i die 
a disgraceful death. And yet you wish to speak td 
me. Do you expect my Messing ? n 


2N TELE PALACE OF THE KING 


Dolores had lost the power of speech* Passing her 
hand now and then across her forehead, as though try¬ 
ing to brush away a material v°il, she stood half para¬ 
lyzed, staring wildly at him while he spoke. But when 
she saw him turn away from her towards the door, as 
if he would go out and leave her there, her strength 
was loosed from the spell, and she sprang before him 
and caught his wrists with her hands. 

46 1 am as innocent as when my mother bore me,” she 
said, and her low voice rang with the truth. “ I told 
the lie to save your life. Do you believe me now ? ” 

He gazed at her with haggard eyes for many mo¬ 
ments before he spoke. 

44 How can it be true ? ” he asked, but his voice shook 
in his throat. 44 You were there — I saw you leave his 
room — ” 

“No, that you never saw !” she cried, well knowing 
how impossible it was, since she had been locked in till 
after he had gone away. 

44 1 saw your dress—not this one — what you worn 
this afternoon.” 

“Not this one? X put on this court dress before 1 
got out of the room in which you had locked me up* 
Inez helped me—X pretended that I was she, and wore 
her cloak, and slipped away, and 1 have not been back 
again. You did not see me.” 

Mendoza passed his hand over his eyes and drew 
back from her. If what she said were true, the 
strongest link was gone from the chain of facts by 
which he had argued so much sorrow and shame* For ® 


A UQ VS STOBY OF OLD MADUm 

getting himself and his own near fate* ho looked at the 
court dress she wore, and a mere glance convinced him 
that it was not the one he had seen. 

« But — 99 he was suddenly confused —* 44 but why did 
you need to disguise yourself ? I left the Princess of 
Eboli with you, and I gave her permission to take you 
away to stay with her. You needed no disguise,” 
w I never saw her. She must have found Inez in to 
room. I was gone long before that.” 

44 Gone—where?” Mendoza was fast losing to 
thread of it all — in his confusion of ideas he grasped 
the clue of his chief sorrow, which was far beyond any 
thought for himself. 44 But if you are innocent — pray 
God you may be, as you say —how is it possible *— oh, 
no ! I cannot believe it —-1 cannot! No woman could 
do that — no innocent girl could stand out before a 
multitude of men and women, and say what you 
said ■— ” 

44 1 hoped to save your life. I had to strength, 1 

did it.” 

Her clear grey eyes looked into his* and his doubt 
began to break away before to truth, 

44 Make me believe it! ” he cried, Ms voice breaking, 
64 Oh, God ! Make me believe it before I die f ” 

44 It is true,” she cried, in a low, strong voice that 
carried belief to his breast in spite of such reasoning 
as still had some power over him, 44 It is true, and you 
shall believe it i and if you will not, the man you have 
killed, to man I loved and trusted, to dead man who 
knows to whole truth m I know i% will come beck 


IK TEE PALACE OP THE KIN© 


from the dead to prove it true — for I swear it upon 
Ms soul in heaven, and upon yours and mine that will 
not be long on earth — a»s I will swear it in the hour of 
your death and mine, since we must die I 99 

He could not take his eyes from hers that held him, 
and suddenly in the pure depths he seemed to see her 
soul facing him without fear, and he knew that what 
she said was true, and his tortured heart leapt up at 
the good certainty. 

“ I believe you, my child,’* he said at last, and then 
his grey lids half closed over his eyes and he bent down 
to her, and put his arm round her. 

But she shuddered at the touch of his right hand, 
and though she knew that he was a condemned man, 
and that she might never see him again, she could not 
bear to receive his parting kiss upon her forehead. 

“Oh, father, why did you kill him?” she asked, 
turning her head away and moving to escape from his 
hold. 

But Mendoza did not answer. Ilis arm dropped by 
his side, and his face grew white and stony. She was 
asking him to give up the King’s secret, to keep which 
he was giving his life. He felt that it would be treason 
to tell even her. And besides, she would not keep th® 
secret — what woman could, what daughter would ? It 
must go out of the world with him, if it was to be safe. 
He glanced at her and saw her face ravaged by an hour’s 
grief. Yet she would not mourn Don John the less if 
she knew whose hand had done the deed. It could 
make but & little difference to her, though to himself 







a dgyb mom; of old mabeid 


301 


that difference would be great, if she knew that he died 
innocent* 

And then began a struggle fierce and grim, that tor© 
his soul and wounded his heart as no death agony could 
have hurt him* Since he had judged her unjustly, sine© 
it had all been a hideous dream, since she was still th© 
child that had been all in all to him throughout her life, 
since all was changed, he did not wish to die, he bor© 
the dead man no hatred, it was no soothing satisfaction 
to his outraged heart to know him dead of a sword 
wound in the breast, far away in the room where they 
had left Mm, there was no fierce regret that he had not 
driven the thrust himself* The man was as innocent 
as the innocent girl, and lie himself, as innocent m 
both, was to be led out to die to shield the King—-n© 
more* His life was to be taken for that only, and h@ 
no longer set its value at naught nor wished it over. 
He was the mere scapegoat, to suffer for Ms master*© 
crime, since crime it was and nothing better* And 
since he was willing to bear the punishment, or sine® 
there was now no escape from it, had he not at least 
the human right to proclaim his innocence to the only 
being he really loved ? It would be monstrous to deny 
it. What could she do, after all, even if she knew th© 
truth? Nothing, No one would dare to believe her 
if she accused the King. She would be shut up in a 
convent as a mad woman, but in any case, she would 
certainly disappear to end her life in some religion® 
house as soon as he was dead. Poor girl*—she had 
loved Bon John with all her heart —what could the 


B02 


IN THE PALACE OF THE KING 


world hold for her, even if the disgrace of her father’s 
death were not to shut her out of the world altogether, 
as it inevitably must. She would not live long, but 
she would live in the profoundest sorrow. It would 
be an alleviation, almost the greatest possible, to know 
that her father’s hand was not stained by such a deed. 

The temptation to speak out was overwhelming, and 
he knew that the time was short. At any moment Ruy 
Gomez might open the door, and bid him part from 
her, and there would be small chance for him of seeing 
her again. He stood uncertain, with bent head and 
folded arms, and she watched him, trying to bring her¬ 
self to touch his hand again and bear his kiss. 

His loyalty to the King, that was like a sort of mad¬ 
ness, stood between him and the words he longed to 
say. It was the habit of his long soldier’s life, unbend* 
ing as the corslet he wore and enclosing his soul as 
the steel encased his body, proof against every cruelty, 
every unkindness, every insult. It was better to die a 
traitor’s death for the King’s secret than to live for his 
own honour. So it had always seemed to him, since he 
had been a boy and had learned to fight under the great 
Emperor. But now he knew that he wavered as he 
had never done in the most desperate charge, when life 
was but a missile to be flung in the enemy’s face, and 
found or not, when the fray was over. There was no 
intoxication of fury now, there was no far ring of glory 
in the air, there was no victory to be won. The hard 
and hideous fact stared him in the face, that he was to 
die like a malefactor by the hangman’s hand, and that 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 303 

the sovereign who had graciously deigned to accept th® 
sacrifice had tortured him for nearly half an hour 
without mercy in the presence of an inferior, in order 
to get a few facts on paper which might help his own 
royal credit. And as if that were not enough, his own 
daughter was to live after him, believing that he had 
cruelly murdered the man she most dearly loved. It 
was more than humanity could hear. 

His brow unbent, his arms unfolded themselves, and 
he held them out to Dolores with a smile almost gentle,, 

« There is no blood on these hands, my little girl,* 
he said tenderly. “I did not do it, child. Let m^ 
hold you in my arms once, and kiss you before I go. 
We are both innocent—* we can bless one another be 
fore we part for ever.” 

The pure, grey eyes opened wide in amazement. 
Dolores could hardly believe her ears, as she made a 
step towards him, and then stopped, shrinking, and 
then made one step more. Her lips moved and won® 
dering words came to him, so low that he could hardly 
understand, save that she questioned him. 

“You did not do it! ” she breathed. “You did not 
kill him after all ? But then—who — why ? ” 

Still she hesitated, though she came slowly nearer, 
^nd a faint light warmed her sorrowful face. 

“You must try to guess who and why,” he said, in a 
tone as low as her own. “ I must not tell you that.” 

“I cannot guess,” she answered; but she was close to 
him now, and she had taken one of his hands softly in 
both her own, while she gazed into bis eyes. “How 


304 


IN THE PALACE OF THE KING 


can I understand unless you tell me ? Is it so great a 
secret that you must die for it, and never tell it ? Oh, 
father, father ! Are you sure -— quite sure ? ” 

“ He was dead already when I came into the room,” 
Mendoza answered. “ I did not even see him hurt.” 

“ But then — yes — then ” — her voice sank to a 
whisper —- “ then it was the King 1 ” 

He saw the words on her lips rather than heard them, 
and she saw in his face that she was right. She dropped 
his hand and threw her arms round his neck, pressing 
her bosom to his breastplate; and suddenly her love for 
him awoke, and she began to know how she might have 
loved him if she had known him through ail the years 
that were gone. 

“ It cannot be that he will let you die! ” she cried 
softly. “You shall not die!” she cried again, with 
sudden, strength, and her light frame shook his as if 
she would wrench him back from inevitable fate. 

“ My little girl,” he answered, most tenderly clasping 
her to him, and most thoughtfully, lest his armour 
should hurt her, “I can die happy now, for I have 
found all of you again.” 

“ You shall not die ! You shall not die! ” she cried. 
“ I will not let you go — they must take me, too — ” 

“No power can save me now, my darling,” he an¬ 
swered. “ But it does not matter, since you know. It 
will be easy now.” 

She could only hold him with her small hands, and 
say over and over again that she would not let him go. 

“Ah! why have you never loved me before in all 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 

these years?” lie cried. “It was my fault —all my 
fault.” 

44 I love you now with all my heart,” she answered, 
44 and I will save you, even from the King; and you and 
I and Inez will go far away, and you two shall comfort 
me and love me till I go to him.” 

Mendoza shook his head sadly, looking over her 
shoulder as he held her, for he knew that there was 
no hope now. Had he known, or half guessed, but an 
hour or two ago, he would have turned on his heel from 
the door of Don John’s chamber, and he would have 
left the King to bear the blame or shift it as he could. 

“It is too late, Dolores. God bless you, my dear, 
dear child ! It will soon be over — two days at most, 
for the people will cry out for the blood of Don John’s 
murderer ; and when they see mine they will be satis¬ 
fied. It is too late now. Good-by, my little girl, 
good-by ! The blessing of all heaven be on your 
dear head ! ” 

Dolores nestled against him, as she had never done 
before, with the feeling that she had found something 
that had been wanting in her life, at the very moment 
when the world, with all it held for her, was slipping 
over the edge of eternity. 

“I will not leave you,” she cried again. 44 They 
shall take me to your prison, and I will stay with you 
and take care of you, and never leave you ; and at last 
I shall save your life, and then — ” 

The door of the corridor opened, and she saw Ruy 
Gomez standing in the entrance, as if he were waiting. 


X 


806 IN THE PALACE OF THE KING 

His face was calm and grave as usual, but she saw a 
profound pity in his eyes. 

“No, no! ” she cried to him, “not yet-—-one moment 
more! ” 

But Mendoza turned his head at her words, looking 
over his shoulder, and he saw the Prince also. 

“ I am ready,” he said briefly, and he tried to take 
Dolores’ hands from his neck. “ It is time,” he said to 
her. “Be brave, my darling! We have found each 
other at last. It will not be long before we are to¬ 
gether for ever.” 

He kissed her tenderly once more, and loosed her 
hold, putting her two hands together and kissing them 
also. 

“I will not say good-by,” she said. “It is not 
good-by — it shall not be. I shall be with you soon.” 

His eyes lingered upon hers for a moment, and then 
he broke away, setting his teeth lest he should choke 
and break down. He opened the door and presented 
himself to the halberdiers. Dolores heard his familiar 
voice give the words of command. 

“ Close up ! Forward, march ! ” 

The heavy tramp she knew so well began at once, and 
echoed along the outer entries, growing slowly less 
distinct till it was only a distant and rumbling echo, 
and then died away altogether. Her hand was still on 
the open door, and Ruy Gomes was standing beside her. 
He gently drew her away, and closed the door again. 
She let him lead her to a chair, and sat down where 
she had sat Wore. But this time she did not lean 


A LOYE STORY OF ODD MADRID 


307 


back exhausted, with half-closed eyes, —- she rested her 
elbow on her knee and her chin in her hand, and she 
tried to think connectedly to a conclusion. She re¬ 
membered all the details of the past hours one by one, 
and she felt that the determination to save her father 
had given her strength to live. 

“ Don Ruy Gomez,” she said at last, looking up to 
the tall old nobleman, who stood by the brazier 
warming his hands again, “ can I see the King 
alone ? ” 

“That is more than I can promise,” answered the 
Prince. “I have asked an audience for you, and the 
chamberlain will bring word presently whether his 
Majesty is willing to see you. But if you are ad¬ 
mitted, I cannot tell whether Perez will be there or 
not. He generally is. His presence need make no 
difference to you. He is an excellent young man, 
full of heart. I have great confidence in him, —so 
much so that I recommended him to his Majesty as 
Secretary. I am sure that he will do all he can to be 
of use to you.” 

Dolores looked up incredulously, and with a certain 
wonder at the Prince’s extreme simplicity. Yet he 
had been married ten years to the clever woman who 
ruled him and Perez and King Philip, and made each 
one believe that she was devoted to him only, body 
and soul. Of the three, Perez alone may have guessed 
the truth, but though it was degrading enough, he 
would not let it stand in the way of his advancement j 
and in the end it was he who escaped, leaving her 


IK THE PALACE OF THE KING 


perish, the victim of the King’s implacable anger. 
Dolores could not help shaking her head in answer to 
the Prince of Eboli’s speech. 

44 People are very unjust to Perez,” he said. 44 But 
the King trusts him. If he is there, try to conciliate 
him, for he has much influence with his Majesty.” 

Dolores said nothing, and resuming her attitude, 
returned to her sad meditations, and to the study of 
some immediate plan. But she could think of no way. 
Her only fixed intention was to see the King himself. 
Ruy Gomez could do no more to help her than he had 
done already, and that indeed was not little, since it 
was to his kindly impulse that she owed her meeting 
with her father. 

‘I And if Perez is not inclined to help Don Diego,” 
said the Prince, after a long pause which had not inter- 
rupted the slow progression of his kindly thought, 44 1 
will request my wife to speak to him. I have often 
noticed that the Princess can make Perez do almost 
anything she wishes. Women are far cleverer than 
men, my dear — they have ways we do not understand. 
Yes, I will interest my wife in the affair. It would 
be a sad thing if your father — ” 

The old man stopped short, and Dolores wondered 
vaguely what he had been going to say. Ruy Gomez 
was a very strange compound of almost childlike and 
most honourable simplicity, and of the experienced 
wisdom with regard to the truth of matters in which 
he was not concerned, which sometimes belongs to very 
honourable and simple men. 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 


809 


44 You do not believe that my father is guilty,” said 
Dolores, boldly asserting what she suspected. 

“ My dear child,” answered Ruy Gomez, twisting his 
rings on his fingers as he spread his hands above the 
coals in the brazier, 46 1 have lived in this court for 
fifty years, and I have learned in that time that where 
great matters are at stake those who do not know the 
whole truth are often greatly deceived by appearances. 
I know nothing of the real matter now, but it would 
not surprise me if a great change took place before to¬ 
morrow night. A man who has committed a crime so 
horrible as the one your father confessed before us all 
rarely finds it expedient to make such a confession, and 
a young girl, my dear, who has really been a little too 
imprudently in love with a royal Prince, would be a 
great deal too wise to make a dramatic statement of her 
fault to the assembled Grandees of Spain.” 

He looked across at Dolores and smiled gently. But 
she only shook her head gravely in answer, though she 
wondered at what he said, and wondered, too, whether 
there might not be a great many persons in the court 
who thought as he did. She was silent, too, because it 
hurt her to talk when she could not draw breath with¬ 
out remembering that what she had lived for was lying 
dead in that dim room on the upper story. 

The door opened, and a chamberlain entered the room, 

44 His Majesty is pleased to receive Dona Dolores de 
Mendoza in private audience,” ha said. 

Buy Gomez rose and led Dolores out into the corridor* 


CHAPTER XVIII 


BoiiOBES had prepared no speech with which to ap* 
peal to the King, and she had not counted upon lies’ 
©wn feelings towards him when she found herself in 
the room where Mendoza had been questioned, and 
heard the door closed behind her by the chamberlain 
who had announced her coming. She stood still a mo¬ 
ment, dazzled by the brilliant lights after having been 
so long in the dimmer waiting room. She had never 
before been in the King’s study, and she had fancied 
it very different from what it really was when she had 
tried to picture to herself the coming interview. She 
had supposed the room small, sombre, littered with 
books and papers, and cold; it was, on the contrary, 
so spacious as to be almost a hall, it was brightly illu¬ 
minated and warmed by the big wood fire. Magnifi¬ 
cent tapestries covered the walls with glowing colour, 
and upon one of these, in barbaric bad taste, was bung 
a single great picture by Titian, Philip’s favourite 
master, Dolores blushed as she recognized in the face 
of the insolent- Venus the features of the Princess of 
EbolL From his accustomed chair, the King could see 
this painting* Everywhere in the room there were 
sseh objects t hast -caught and reflected the light, things 
m 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID Bit 

of gold and silver, of jade and lapis lazuli, in a sort of 
tasteless profusion that detracted from the beauty 
of each, and made Dolores feel that she had been sud¬ 
denly transported out of her own element into another 
that was hard to breathe and in which it was bad to 
live. It oppressed her, and though her courage was 
undiminished, the air of the place seemed to stifle her 
thought and speech. 

As she entered she saw the King in profile, seated 
in his great chair at some distance from the fixe, but 
looking at it steadily. He did not notice her presence 
at first. Antonio Perez sat at the table, busily writing, 
and he only glanced at Dolores sideways when ha 
heard the door close after her. She sank almost to the 
ground as she made the first court curtsey before ad* 
vancing, and she came forward into the light. As her 
skirt swept the ground a second time, Philip looked 
slowly round, and his dull stare followed her as she 
came round in a quarter of a wide circle and curtsied a 
third time immediately in front of him. 

She was very beautiful, as she stood waiting for him 
to speak, and meeting his gaze fearlessly with a look of 
cold contempt in her white face such as no living per¬ 
son had ever dared to turn to him, while the light of 
anger burned in her deep grey eyes. But for the pres¬ 
ence of the Secretary, she would have spoken first, 
regardless of court ceremony. Philip looked at her 
attentively, mentally comparing her with his young 
Queen's placidly dull personality and with the Prin¬ 
cess of Ebolfs fast disappearing and somewhat cmmm 


812 


nr TEDS FAXACE OF THE Kim 


beauty. For the Princess bad changed much sine® 
Titian had painted his very flattering picture* and 
though she was only thirty years of age* she was al° 
ready the mother of many children. Philip stared 
steadily at the beautiful girl who stood waiting before 
him, and he wondered why she had never seemed so 
lovely to him before. There was a half morbid, half 
bitter savour in what he felt, too,—* he had just com 
demned the beauty's father to death, and she must 
therefore hate him with all her heart. It pleased him 
to think of that; she was beautiful and he stared at her 
long. 

46 Be seated, Dona Dolores.” he said at last, in & 
muffled voic-8 that was not harsh. “X am glad that 
you have come, for I have much to say to you.” 

Without lifting his wrist from the arm of the chair 
on which it rested, the I£ing moved his hand, and his 
long forefinger pointed to a low cushioned stool that 
was placed near him. Dolores came forward unwill- 
ingly and sat down. Perez watched the two thought¬ 
fully, and forgot his writing. He did not remember 
that any one excepting the Princess of Eboli had been 
allowed to be seated in the King's study. The Queen 
never came there. Perez* work exempted him in prT 
vate, of course, from much of the tedious ceremonial 
upon which Philip insisted. Dolores sat upon the 
edge of the stool, very erect, with her hands folded on 
her knees. 

44 Dona Dolores is pale,” observed the King. 66 Bring 
& cordial, Perez, or a glass of Oporto wine.” 


A LOVIS ST0BY OB OLD MAD .BIO SIS 

*1 thank your Majesty,” said the young girl quickly, 
* I need nothing. ” 

*‘I will be your physician,” answered Philip, very 
suavely. W I shall insist upon your taking the medi¬ 
cine I prescribe,” 

He did not tarn his eyes from her as Perea brought 
a gold salver and offered Dolores the glass. It was 
impossible to refuse, so she lifted it to her lips and 
sipped a little. 

“ I thank your Majesty,” she said again. u I thank 
you, sir,” she said gravely to Perez as she set down the 
glass, but she did not raise her eyes to his face as she 
spoke any more than she would have done if he had 
been a footman. 

“ I have much to say to you, and some question® to 
ask of you,” the King began, speaking very slowly, but 
with extreme suavity. 

He paused, and coughed a little* but Dolores said 
nothing. Then he began to look at her again, and 
while he spoke he steadily examined every detail of her 
appearance till his inscrutable gaze had travelled from 
her headdress to the points of her velvet slippers, and 
finally remained fixed upon her mouth in a way that 
disturbed her even more than the speech he made. 
Perez had resumed his seat. 

“In my life,” he began, speaking of himself quite 
without formality, “I have suffered more than most 
men, in being bereaved of the persons to whom I have 
been most sincerely attached. The most fortunate and 
successful sovereign in the world has been and is the 


814 m THE FALA.OB of the kin© 

most unhappy man in his kingdom. One after an 
other, those I have loved have been taken from me, 
until I am almost alone in the world that is so largely 
mine. I suppose yon cannot understand that, my dear, 
for my sorrows began before you were born. But they 
have reached their crown and culmination to-day in 
the death of my dear brother.” 

He paused, watching her mouth, and he saw that she 
was making a superhuman effort to control herself, 
pressing the beautiful lips together, though they moved 
|*ainfully in spite of her, and visibly lost colour. 

64 Perez,” he said after a moment, 44 you may go and 
Wke some rest. I will send for you when I need you.” 

The Secretary rose, bowed low, and left the room 
by a small masked door in a corner. The King 
waited till he saw it close before he spoke again. 
His tone changed a little then and his words came 
quickly, as if he felt here constraint. 

u I feel,” he said, 44 that we are united by a common 
calamity, my dear. I intend to take you under my 
most particular care and protection from this very 
hour. Yes, I know ! ” he held up his hand to deprecate 
any interruption, for Dolores seemed about to speak. 
44 1 know why you come to me, you wish to intercede 
for your father. That is natural, and you are right 
to come to me yourself, for I would rather hear your 
voice than that of another speaking for you, and I 
would rather grant any mercy in my power to you 
directly than to some personage of the court who 
would be seeking his own interest as much m 


JSL LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID SM 

"I ask justice, not mercy, Sire,” said Dolores, in a 
firm, low voice, and the fire lightened in her eyes. 

“Your father shall have both,” answered Philip, 
“for they are compatible.” 

“ He needs no mercy,” returned the young girl, “ fofx 
he has done no harm. Your Majesty knows that as 
well as I.” 

“If I knew that, my dear, your father would not 
be under arrest. I cannot guess what you know or 
do not know***-” 

“I know the truth.” She spoke so confidently that 
the King’s expression changed a little. 

“ I wish I did,” he answered, with as much suavity 
as ever. “But tell me what you think you know 
about this matter. You may help me to sift it, and 
then I shall be the better able to help you, if such a 
thing be possible. What do you know?” 

Dolores leaned forward toward him from her seat, 
almost rising as she lowered her voice to a whisper, 
Her eyes fixed on his face. 

“ I was close behind the door your Majesty wished 
to open,” she said. “I heard every word; I heard 
your sword drawn and I heard Don John fall™-and 
then it was some time before I heard my father’s voice, 
taking the blame upon himself, lest it should be said 
that the King had murdered his own brother in his 
room, unarmed. Is that the truth, or not ? ” 

While she was speaking, a greenish hue overspread 
Philip’s face, ghastly in the candlelight. He sat up¬ 
right in his chair, his hands straining on its arms 


m 


m TMM FALAO® OF TMM jEHS 


and pushing, as if he would have got further back if 
he could. He had foreseen everything except that' 
Dolores had been in the next room, for his secret 
spies had informed him through Perex that her father 
had kept her a prisoner during the early part of the 
evening and until after supper* 

w When you were both gone,” Dolores continued, 
holding him under her terrible eyes, 44 1 came in, 
and I found him dead, with the wound in his left 
breast, and he was unarmed, murdered without % 
chance for his life* There is blood upon my dresi 
where it touched his —the blood of the man I loved, 
shed by you* Ah, he was right to call you coward, 
and he died for me, because you said things of ms 
that no loving man would bear* He was right to call 
you coward — it was well said — it was the last word 
he spoke, and 1 shall not forget it* He had horn a 
everything you heaped upon himself, your insults, 
your scorn of his mother, but he would not let you 
cast a slur upon my name, and if you had not killed 
him out of sheer cowardice, he would have struck you 
in the face* He was a man f And then my father 
took the blame to save you from the monstrous ac¬ 
cusation, and that all might believe him guilty he told 
the lie that saved you before them all* Do I know the 
truth ? Is one word of that not true ? ” 

She had quite risen now and stood before Mm lika 
an accusing angel. And he, who was seldom takes 
unawares, and was very hard to hurt, leaned back and 
suffered^* slowly turning his head from side to sfc&a 
against the back of the high carved ehairo 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 


m 


u Confess that it is true ! ” she cried, in concentrated 
tones. “Can you not even find courage for that? 
You are not the King now, you are your brother’s 
murderer, and the murderer of the man I loved, whose 
wife I should have been to-morrow. Look at me, and 
confess that I have told the truth. I am a Spanish 
woman, and I would not see my country branded be¬ 
fore the world with the shame of your royal murders, 
and if you will confess and save my father, I will 
keep your secret for my country’s sake. But if not 
— then you must either kill me here, as you slew him, 
or by the God that made you and the mother that bore 
you, I will tell all Spain what you are, and the men 
who loved Don John of Austria shall rise and take 
your blood for his blood, though it be blood royal, and 
you shall die, as you killed, like the coward you are! ” 

The King’s eyes were closed, and still his great pale 
head moved slowly from side to side; for he was suf¬ 
fering, and the torture of mind he had made Mendoza 
bear was avenged already. But he was silent. 

“Will you not speak?” asked the young girl, with 
blazing eyes, “Then find some weapon and kill me 
here before I go, for I shall not wait till you find many 
words.” 

She was silent, and she stood upright in the act to 
go. He made no sound, and she moved towards the 
door, stood still, then moved again and then again, 
pausing for his answer at each step* He heard her, 
but could not bring himself to speak the words sirs 
demanded of him. She began to walk quickly® Her 


818 m THE PALACE OF THE KSNQ 

hand was almost on the door when he raised Mmeeif 
by the arms of Ms chair, and cried out to her in a 

frightened voice: —- 

no! Stay here —you must act go — what 
do you want me to say ? ” 

She advanced a step again* and once more stood 
still and met his scared eyes as he turned his face 

towards her, 

“ Say* ‘ You have spoken the truth,’” she answered, 
dictating to him as if she were the sovereign and he 
a guilty subject. 

She waited a moment and then moved as if she 
would go out, 

“ Stay — yes -—it is true — I did it — fox God’s 
mercy do not betray me' ” 

He almost screamed the words out to her, half ris¬ 
ing, his body bent, his face livid in his extreme fear. 
She came slowly back towards him, keeping her eyes 
upon him as if he were some dangerous wild animal 
that she controlled by her look alone. 

44 That is not all,” she said. 54 That wae for me, 
that I might hear the words from your owa lips. 
There is something more.” 

w What more do you want of me ? ” asked Philip, in 
thick tones, leaning back exhausted in his chair. 

44 My father’s freedom and safety,” answered Doloim 
a l must have an order for Ms instant release. He 
can hardly have reached his prison yet. Send 
for him. Let Mm come here at onee, ae a fn» 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 810 

w That is impossible/ 5 replied Philip. 44 He has ©om^ 
fessed the deed before the whole court —he cannot 
possibly be set at liberty without a trial. You forget 
what you are asking —indeed you forget yourself 
altogether too much.” 

He was gathering his dignity again, by force ©I 
habit, as his terror subsided, but Dolores was to© 
strong for him. 

“ I am not asking any thing of your Majesty; I am 
dictating terms to my lover’s murderer/* she said 
proudly. 

44 This is past bearing, girl l ” cried Philip hoarsely. 
44 You are out of your mind — I shall call servants to 
take you away to a place of safety. We shall s m 
what you will do then. You shall not impose your 
insolence upon me any longer.” 

Dolores reflected that it was probably in his power 
to carry out the threat, and to have her carried off by 
the private door through which Perez had gone out. 
She saw in a flash how great her danger was, for sh© 
was the only witness against Mm, and if he could put 
her out of the way in a place of silence, he could send 
her father to trial and execution without risk to him* 
self, as he had certainly intended to do. On the other 
hand, she had been able to terrify him to submission 
& few moments earlier. In the instant working of her 
woman’s mind, she recollected how his fright had 
increased as she had approached the door by wMck 
sh© had entered. His only chance of accomplishing 
her disappearance lay in having her taken twajr hf 


320 


IN THE PALACE OF THE KING- 


some secret passage, where no open scandal could be 
possible. 

Before she answered his last angry speech, she had 
almost reached the main entrance again. 

44 Call whom you will,” she said contemptuously. 
44 You cannot save yourself. Don Ruy Gomez is on 
the other side of that door, and there are chamberlains 
and guards there* too. I shall have told them all the 
truth before your men can lay hands on me. If you 
will not write the order to release my father, I shall 
go out at once. In ten minutes there will be a revo¬ 
lution in the palace, and to-morrow all Spain will be 
on fire to avenge your brother. Spain has not for¬ 
gotten Don Carlos yet! There are those alive who 
saw you give Queen Isabel the draught that killed 
her — with your own hand. Are you mad enough to 
think that no one knows those things, that your spies, 
who spy on others, do not spy on you, that you alone, 
of all mankind, can commit every crime with im¬ 
punity ? ” 

44 Take care, girl! Take care ! ” 

“Beware — Don Philip of Austria, King of Spain 
and half the world, lest a girl’s voice be heard above 
yours, and a girl’s hand loosen the foundation of your 
throne, lest all mankind rise up to-morrow and take 
your life for the lives you have destroyed ! Outside 
this door here, there are men who guess the truth 
already, who hate you as they hate Satan, and who loved 
your brother as every living being loved him — except 
you. One moment more—order my father to be set 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 


321 


free, or I will open and speak. One moment! You 
will not? It is too late — you are lost! ” 

Her hand went out to open, but Philip was already 
on his feet, and with quick, clumsy steps he reached the 
writing-table, seized the pen Perez had thrown down, 
and began to scrawl words rapidly in his great angular 
handwriting. He threw sand upon it to dry the ink, 
and then poured the grains back into the silver sand¬ 
box, glanced at the paper and held it out to Dolores 
without a word. His other hand slipped along the 
table to a silver bell, used for calling his private at¬ 
tendants, but the girl saw the movement and instinc¬ 
tively suspected his treachery. He meant her to come 
to the table, when he would ring the bell and then 
catch her and hold her by main force till help came. 
Her faculties were furiously awake under the strain 
she bore, and outran his slow cunning. 

“If you ring that bell, I will open,” she said impe¬ 
riously. “I must have the paper here, where I am 
safe, and I must read it myself before I shall be 
satisfied.” 

“ You are a terrible woman,” said the King, but she 
did not like his smile as he came towards her, holding 
out the document. 

She took it from his hand, keeping her eyes on his, 
for something told her that he would try to seize her 
and draw her from the door while she was reading it. 
For some seconds they faced each other in silence, and 
she knew by his determined attitude that she was right, 
and that it would not be safe to look down. She won- 


m THE PALACE OF THE KING 


dered why he did not catch her in his arms as she stood, 
and then she realized that her free hand was on the 
latch of the door, and that he knew it. She slowly 
turned the handle, and drew the door to her, and she 
saw his face fall. She moved to one side so that she 
could have sprung out if he had tried violence, and 
then at last she allowed her eyes to glance at the 
paper. It w r as in order and would be obeyed; she 
eaw that, at a glance, for it said that Don Diego de 
Mendoza was to be set at liberty instantly and un¬ 
conditionally. 

“ I humbly thank your Majesty, and take my leave,” 
she said, throwing the door wide open and curtseying 
low. 

A chamberlain who had seen the door move on its 
hinges stepped in to shut it, for it opened inward. 
The King beckoned him in, and closed it, but before 
it was quite shut, he heard Dolores’ voice. 

“Don Ruy Gomez,” she was saying, “this is an 
order to set my father at liberty unconditionally and 
at once. I do not know to whom it should be given. 
Will you take it for me and see to it ? ” 

“ I will go to the west tower myself,” he said, begin¬ 
ning to walk with her. “Such good news is even 
better when a friend brings it.” 

“ Thank you. Tell him from me that he is safe, for 
his Majesty has told me that he knows the whole 
truth. Will you do that ? You have been very kind 
to me to-night, Prince —- let me thank you with all my 
heart now, for we may not meet again. You will not 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 


328 


see me at court after this, and I trust my father will 
take us back to Valladolid and live with us.” 

“ That would be wise,” answered Ruy Gomez. u As 
for any help I have given you, it has been little enough 
and freely given. I will not keep your father waiting 
lor bis liberty* Good-night, Dona Dolores.” 


OHAPTEB XIX 


/ 


All that had happened from the time when Don 
lohn had fallen in his room to the moment when 
Dolores left her sister on the terrace had occupied little 
more than half an hour, during which the King had 
descended to the hall, Mendoza had claimed the guilt 
of Don John’s murder, and the two had gone out 
under the protection of the guards. As soon as Dolores 
was out of hearing, Inez rose and crept along the ter« 
race to Don John’s door., In the confusion that had 
ensued upon the announcement of his death no one had 
thought of going to him; every one took it for granted 
that some one else had done what was necessary, and 
that his apartments were filled with physicians and 
servants. It was not the first time in history that a 
royal personage had thus been left alone an hour, 
either dead or dying, because no one was immediately 
responsible, and such things have happened since. 

Inez stole along the terrace and found the outer door 
open, as the dwarf had left it when he had carried 
Dolores out in his arms. She remembered that the 
voices she had heard earlier had come from rooms on 
the left of the door, and she felt her way to the en¬ 
trance of the bedchamber, and then went in without 


M WVM STORY OF OLD MADRID 825 

hesitation* Bending very low, so that her hands 
touched the fleer from time to time, she crept along, 
feeling for the body she expected to find* Suddenly 
she started and stood upright in an instant* She had 
heard a deep sigh in the room, not far off. 

She listened intently, but even her ears could detect 
no sound after that* She was a little frightened, not 
with any supernatural fear, for the blind, who live in 
the dark for ever, are generally singularly exempt from 
such terrors, but because she had thought herself alone 
with the dead man, and did not wish to be discovered. 

44 Who is here?” she asked quickly, but there was 
no answer out of the dead stillness. 

She stood quite still a few seconds and then crept 
forward again, bending down and feeling before her 
along the floor. A moment later her hand touched 
velvet, and she knew that she had found what she 
sought. With a low moan she fell upon her knees and 
felt for the cold hand that lay stretched out upon the 
marble pavement beyond the thick carpet. Her hand 
followed the arm, reached the shoulder and then the 
face. Her fingers fluttered lightly upon the features, 
while her own heart almost stood still She felt no 
horror of death, though she had never been near a dead 
person before 5 and those who were fond of her had 
allowed her to feel their features with her gentle 
hands, and she knew beauty through her touch, by its 
shape. Though her heart was breaking, she had felt 
that once, before it was too late, she must know th© 
face she had long loved in dreams. Her longing satis- 


B2B JN THE PALACE OF THE KIHG 

Med, her grief broke cut again, and she let herself faS 
her length upon the door beside Don John, one arm 
across his chest, her head resting against the motionless 
shoulder, her face almost hidden against the gathered 
velvet and silk of his doublet. Once or twice she 
sobbed convulsively, and then she lay quite still, try¬ 
ing with all her might to die there, on his arm, before 
any one came to disturb her. It seemed very simple, 
|ust to stop living and stay with him for ever. 

Again she heard a sound of deep-drawn breath —- but 
it was close to her now, and her own arm moved with 
it on his chest — the dead man had moved, he had 
sighed. She started up wildly, with a sharp cry, half 
of paralyzing fear, and half of mad delight in a hope 
altogether impossible. Then, he drew his breath again, 
and it issued from his lips with a low groan. He was 
not quite dead yet, he might speak to her still, he could 
hear her voice, perhaps, before he really died. She 
could never have found courage to kiss him, even then 
she could have blushed scarlet at the thought, but she 
bent down to his face, very close to it, till her cheek 
almost touched his as she spoke in a very trembling, 
low voice. 

“Not yet—not yet—’Come back for one moment, 
only for one little moment! Oh, let it be God’s 
miracle for me ! ” 

She hardly knew what she said, but the miracle was 
there, for she heard his breath come again and again, 
and as she stared into her everlasting night, strange 
Mashes, like light, shot through her brain, her bosom 


Jk LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 821 

trembled, and her hands stiffened in the spasm of a 
delirious joy, 

“ Come back I w she ended again, * Corns back ! 99 
Her hands shook as they felt Ms body move. 

His voice came again, not in a word yet, but yet not 
in a groan of pain. His eyes, that had been half open 
and staring, closed with a look of rest, and colour rose 
slowly in his cheeks. Then he felt her breath, and his 
strength returned for an instant, Mi contracted 
and clasped her to him violently. 

« Dolores f 99 he cried, and m a moment his Iip 
rained kisses on her fees, while Ms ejm were still 
closed. 

Then he sank back again exhausted, and her arm 
kept his head from striking the marble floor. The 
girl’s cheek flushed a deep red, as she tried to speak, 
and her words came broken and indistinct, 

“X am not Dolores,” she managed to eay, “I am 
Inez — ” 

But he did not hear, for he was swooning again, and 
the painful blush sank down again, as she realized that 
he was once more unconscious. She wondered whether 
the room were dark or whether there were lights, or 
whether he had not opened his eyes when he had kissed 
her. His head was very heavy on her arm. With her 
other hand she drew off the hood she wore and rolled 
it together, and lifting Mm a little she made a pillow 
of it so that ha rested easily. He had not recognized 
her, and she believed he was dying, he had kissed bar, 
md all eternity could not taka from her the w&mMj tsS 


m 


m TUB PALACE OF THE HOT® 


that moment. In the wild confusion of her thoughts? 
she was almost content that he should die now, for she 
had felt what she had never dared to feel In sweetest 
dreams, and it had been true, and no one could steal it 
away now, nor should any one ever know it, not even 
Dolores herselfa The jealous thought was there, in the 
whirlwind of her brain, with all the rest, sudden, fierce, 
and strong, as if Don John had been hers in life, and m 
if the sister she loved so dearly had tried to win him 
from her. He was hers in death, and should be hers 
for ever, and no one should ever know. It did not mat¬ 
ter that he had taken her for another, his kisses were 
her own. Once only had a man’s lips, not her father’^ 
touched her cheek, and they had been the lips of th© 
fairest, and best, and bravest man in the world, her 
idol and her earthly god. He might die now, and she 
would follow him, and in the world beyond God would 
make it right somehow, and he, and she, and her sister 
would all be but one loving soul for ever and ever. 
There was no reasoning in all that—* it was but the 
flash of wild thoughts that all seemed certainties. 

But Don John of Austria was neither dead nor 
dying. His brother’s sword had pierced his doublet 
and run through the outer flesh beneath his left arm, 
as he stood sideways with his right thrust forward. 
The wound was a mere scratch, as soldiers count 
wounds, and though the young blood had followed 
quickly, it had now ceased to flow. It was the fall 
that had hurt him, not the stab. The carpet had 
clipped from under his feet, and he had fallen back- 


A LOT® 8T0BY O W OSJB MADBUT 

wards to Ms full length, as a man falls on ice, and hw 
head had struck the marble door so violently that ha 
had Iain half an hour almost in a swoon, like a dead 
man at first, with neither breath nor beating of the 
heart to give a sign of life, till after Dolores had 
left him; and then he had sighed back to consciousness 
by very slow degrees, because no one was there to help 
Mm, to raise his head a few inches from the door, to 
dash a little cold water into his face* 

He stirred uneasily now, and moved his hands agai% 
and his eyes opened wide* Inez felt the slight motion 
and heard his regular breathing, and an instinct told 
her that he was conscious, and not in a dream as h® 
had been when he had kissed her. 

“I am Inez/' she said, almost mechanically, and not 
knowing why she had feared that he should take her 
for her sister. “I found your Highness here —they 
all think that you are dead.” 

a Dead ? ” There was surprise in his voice, and his 
eyes looked at her and about the room as he spoke, 
though he did not yet lift his head from the hood on 
which it lay. a Dead ? ” he repeated, dazed still. 
“No — I must have fallen. My head hurts me.” 

He uttered a sharp sound as he moved again, more 
of annoyance than of suffering, as strong men do who 
unexpectedly find themselves hurt or helpless, or both. 
Then, as his eyes fell upon the open door of the inner 
room, he forgot his pain instantly and raised himself 
upon his hand with startled eyes. 

“ Where is Dolores ? ” he cried, in utmost anxiety. 


830 


IN THE PALACE OF THE KING 


“ Where have they taken her ? Did she get out by 
the window ? ” 

“ She is safe,” answered Inez, hardly knowing what 
she said, for he turned pale instantly and had barely 
heard her answer, when he reeled as he half sat and 
almost fell against her. 

She held him as well as she could, but the position 
was strained and she was not very strong. Half mad 
now, between fear lest he should die in her arms and 
the instinctive belief that he was to live, she wished 
with all her heart that some one would come and help 
her, or send for a physician. He might die for lack of 
some simple aid she did not know how to give him. 
But he had only been dizzy with the unconscious effort 
he had made, and presently he rested on his own hand 
again. 

“Thank God Dolores is safe!” he said, in a weak 
voice. “ Can you help me to get to a chair, my dear 
child? I must have been badly stunned. I wonder 
how long I have been here. I remember — ” 

He paused and passed one hand over his eyes. The 
first instinct of strong persons who have been uncon¬ 
scious is to think aloud, and to try and recall every 
detail of the accident that left them unconscious. 

44 1 remember—the King was here — we talked and 
we quarrelled — oh! ” 

The short exclamation ended his speech, as complete 
recollection returned, and he knew that the secret must 
be kept, for his brother’s sake. He laid one hand 
on the slight girl’s shoulder to steady himself, and 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 


331 


with his other he helped himself to kneel on one 
knee. 

“ I am very dizzy,” he said. “ Try and help me to a 
chair, Inez.” 

She rose swiftly, holding his hand, and then putting 
one arm round him under his own. He struggled to 
his feet and leaned his weight upon her, and breathed 
hard. The effort hurt him where the flesh was torn. 

“ I am wounded, too,” he said quietly, as he glanced 
at the blood on his vest. “ But it is nothing serious, I 
think.” 

With the instinct of the soldier hurt in the chest, he 
brushed his lips with the small lace ruffle of his sleeve, 
and looked at it, expecting to see the bright red stains 
that might mean death. There was nothing. 

“It is only a scratch,” he said, with an accent of 
indifference. “ Help me to the chair, my dear.” 

“Where?” she asked. “I do not know the room.” 

“ One forgets that you are blind,” he answered, with 
a smile, and leaning heavily upon her, he led her by his 
weight, till he could touch the chair in which he had 
sat reading Dolores’ letter when the King had entered 
an hour earlier. 

He sat down with a sigh of relief, and stretched 
first one leg and then the other, and leaned back 
with half-closed eyes. 

“ Where is Dolores ? ” he asked at last. “ Why did 
she go away? ” 

“ The jester took her away, I think,” answered 
Inez. “ I found them together on the terrace. She 


SS2 


IN THE PALACE OF THE KING 


was trying to come back to you, but be prevented 
her. They thought you were dead.” 

“That was wise of him.” He spoke faintly still, 
and when he opened his eyes, the room swam with 
him. “And then?” 

“Then I told her what had happened at court; I 
had heard everything from the gallery. And Dolores 
went down alone. I could not understand what she 
was going to do, but she is trying to save our father.” 

“Your father!” Don John looked at her in sur¬ 
prise, forgetting his hurt, but it was as if some one 
had struck his head again, and he closed his eyes. 
“What has happened?” he asked faintly. “Try and 
tell me. I do not understand.” 

“My father thought he had killed you,” answered 
Inez, in surprise. “ He came into the great hall when 
the King was there, and he cried out in a loud voice 
that he had killed you, unarmed.” 

“Your father?” He forgot his suffering altogether 
now. “ Your father was not even in the room when 
— when I fell! And did the King say nothing ? 
Tell me quickly ! ” 

“There was a great uproar, and I ran away to 
find Dolores. I do not know what happened after¬ 
wards.” 

Don John turned painfully in his chair and lifted 
his hand to the back of his head. But he said noth¬ 
ing at first, for he was beginning to understand, 
and he would not betray the secret of his accident 
even to Inez. 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 


333 


“I knew he could not have done it! I thought 
he was mad — he must have been! But I also 
thought your Highness was dead.” 

“Dear child!” Don John’s voice was very kind. 
“ You brought me to life. Your father was not 
here. It was some one else who hurt me. Do you 
think you could find Dolores or send some one to 
tell her — to tell every one that I am alive? Say 
that I had a bad fall and was stunned for a while. 
Never mind the scratch — it is nothing — do not speak 
of it. If you could find Adonis, he could go.” 

He groaned now, for the pain of speaking was 
almost intolerable. Inez put out her hand towards 
him. 

“Does it hurt very much?” she asked, with a 
sort of pathetic, childlike sympathy. 

“Yes, my head hurts, but I shall not faint. There 
is something to drink by the bed, I think—on this 
side. If you could only find it. I cannot walk 
there yet, I am so giddy.” 

“ Some one is coming! ” exclaimed Inez, instead of 
answering him. “I hear some one on the terrace.. 
Hark ! ” she listened with bent head. “ It is Adonis. 
I know his step. There he is! ” 

Almost as she spoke the last words the dwarf was in 
the doorway. He stood still, transfixed with astonish¬ 
ment. 

“ Mercy of heaven ! ” he exclaimed devoutly. “ Hi# 
Highness is alive after all! ” 

“ Yes,” said Inez, in a glad tone. “ The Prince was 


$34 IN THE PALACE OF THE KtXG 

only stunned by the fall. Go and tell Dolores —ge 
out and tell every one — bring every one here to me! ” 

44 No!” cried Don John. 44 Try and bring Dona 
Dolores alone, and let no one else know# The rest can 
wait.” 

64 But your Highness needs a physician,” protested 
the dwarf, not yet recovered from his astonishment. 
u Your Highness is wounded, and must therefore be 
Med at once. I will call the Doctor Gaidos_* 

“I tell you it is nothing,” interrupted Don John. 
44 Do as I order you, and bring Dona Dolores. Give 
me that drink there, first — from the little table. In 
a quarter of an hour I shall be quite well again. I 
have been as badly stunned before when my horse has 
fallen with me at a barrier.” 

The jester swung quickly to the table, in his awk¬ 
ward, bow-legged gait, and brought the beaker that 
stood there. Don John drank eagerly, for his lips 
were parched with pain. 

44 Go!” he said imperatively. «And come back 
quickly.” 

44 1 will go, said Adonis, &i But I may not come 
back quickly, for I believe that Dona Dolores is with 
his Majesty at this moment, or with her father, unless 
the three are together. Since it has pleased your High¬ 
ness not to remain dead, it would have been much sim¬ 
pler not to die at all, for your Highness’s premature 
death has caused trouble which your Highness’s prs- 
mature resurrection may not quickly set right.” 

“ Th - e you bring Dona Dolores, the sooner tte 


A LOVE STORY OP OLD MADRID 


3S5 


trouble will be over,” said Don John* 44 Go at ones, 
and do your best.” 

Adonis rolled away, shaking Ms head and almost 
touching the floor with his hands as he walked. 

44 So the Last Trumpet is not merely another of 
those priests' tales! M he muttered. 44 1 shall meet Don 
Carlos on the terrace, and the Emperor in the corridor, 
no doubt! They might give a man time to confess his 
sins. It was unnecessary that the end ©£ the world 
should come so suddenly f n 

The last words of his jest were spoken to himself, for 
he was already outside when he uttered them, and h© 
had no intention of wasting time in bearing the good 
news to Dolores. The difficulty was to find her. Ha 
had been a witness of the scene in the hall from the 
balcony, and he guessed that when she left the hall 
with Xtuy Gomes shs would go either to her father or 
the King. It would not be an easy matter to see her, 
and it was by no means beyond the bounds of possi ¬ 
bility that he might be altogether hindered from doing 
so, unless he at once announced to every one he met the 
astounding fact that Don John was alive after all. He 
was strongly tempted to do that, without waiting, for 
it seemed by far the most sensible tMng to do in the 
disturbed, state of the court; but it was his business 
to serve and amuse many masters, and his office, if 
not his life, depended upon obeying each in turn and 
finding the right jest for each. He placed the King 
highest, of course, among those he had to please, and 
before ha had gone far m the corridor h& slackened 


IF THE PALACE OF THE KIM 

Ms pace to give himself time to think over the dtm- 
tion. Either the King had meant to kill Don John 
himself, or he had ordered Mendoza tc do so. That 
much was clear to any one who had known the secret 
of Don Carlos* death, and the dwarf had been one of 
the last who had talked with the unfortunate Prince 
before that dark tragedy. And on this present night 
he had seen everything, and knew more of the thoughts 
of each of the actors in the drama than any one else, so 
that he had no doubt as to his conclusions. If, then, 
the King had wished to get rid of Don John, he would 
be very much displeased to learn that the latter was 
alive after alL It would not be good to be the bearer 
of that news, and it was more than likely that Philip 
would let Mendoza go to the scaffold for the attempt, 
as he long afterwards condemned Antonio Perez to 
death for the murder of Escobedo, Don John’s secre¬ 
tary, though he himself had ordered Perez to do that 
deed; as he had already allowed the ecclesiastic Doctor 
Cazalla to be burned alive, though innocent, rather 
than displease the judges who had condemned him. 
The awarf well knew that there was no crime, however 
monstrous, of which Philip was not capable, and of tbs 
righteous necessity of which he could not persuade 
himself if he chose. Nothing could possibly be more 
dangerous than to stand between him and the perpe¬ 
tration of any evil he considered politically necessary, 
except perhaps to hinder him in the pursuit of hm 
gloomy and secret pleasures. Adonis decided at once 
that h© would not be the means of enlightening t-tw 


A mTM STORY OF OLD JCABB3E* Ml 

Sing or the present occasion. He must go to sons© 
one else* The second person in command of Ms life, 
and whom he dreaded most after Philip himself, was 
the Princess of Eboli, 

He knew her secret, too, as he had formerly known 
how she had forged the letters that brought about the 
deaths of Don Carlos and of Queen Isabel for the 
Princess ruled him by fear, and knew that she could 
trust him as long as he stood in terror of her. He 
knew, therefore, that she had not only forgiven Doe 
John for not yielding to her charm in former days, 
but that she now hoped that he might ascend the 
throne in Philip’s stead, by fair means or foul, and 
that the news of his death must have been a destructive 
blow to her hopes. He made up his mind to tell her 
first that he was alive, unless he could get speech with 
Dolores alone, which seemed improbable. Having 
eided this, he hastened his walk again® 

Before he reached the lower story of the palace k© 
composed his face to an expression of solemnity, not 
to say mourning, for he remembered that as no one 
knew the truth but himself, he must not go about with 
too gay a look* In the great vestibule of the hail ha 
found a throng of courtiers, talking excitedly in low 
tones, but neither Dolores nor Euy Gomez was there. 
He sidled up to a tail officer of the guards who was 
standing alone, looking on, 

a Could you inform me, sir,” he asked , il what became 
of Dona Dolores de Mendoza when she left the hall 
with the Prince of Eboli ? ” 
z 


m THE PALACE OP THE KUsTG 


m 


The officer looked down at the dwarf, with whom 
he had never spoken before, but who, in his way, was 
considered to be a personage of importance by the less 
exalted members of the royal household. Indeed, 
Adonis was by no means given to making acquaint¬ 
ance at haphazard with all those who wished to know 
him in the hope that he might say a good word for 
them when the King was in a pleasant humour. 

64 1 do not know, Master Adonis,” answered the 
magnificent lieutenant, very politely* “But if you 
wish it, I will enquire.” 

“You are most kind and courteous, sir,” answered 
the dwarf ceremoniously. “I have a message for the 
lady.” 


The officer turned away and went towards the King’s 
apartments, leaving the jester in the corner. Adonis 
knew that he might wait some time before his in¬ 
formant returned, and he shrank into the shadow to 
avoid attracting attention. That was easy enough, so 
long as the crowd was moving and did not diminish, 
but before long he heard some one speaking within the 
hall, as if addressing a number of persons at once, and 
the others began to leave the vestibule in order to hear 
what was passing. Though the light did not fall upon 
him directly, the dwarf, in his scarlet dress, became a 
conspicuous object. Yet he did not dare to go away, 
for fear of missing the officer when the latter should 
return. His anxiety to escape observation was not 
without cause, since he really wished to give Don 
John’s message to Dolores before any one else knew 


m m 




A IX)YE STORY OF OLD MADRID 8E9 

the trutli. In a few moments he saw the Princess of 
Eboli coming towards him, leaning on the arm of 
the Duke of Medina Sidonia. She came from the 
hall as if she had been listening to the person who 
was still speaking near the door, and her handsome 
face wore a look of profound dejection and disap¬ 
pointment. She had evidently seen the dwarf, for 
she walked directly towards him, and at half a dozen 
paces she stopped and dismissed her companion, who 
bowed low, kissed the tips of her fingers, and with¬ 
drew. 

Adonis drew down the corners of his mouth, bent 
his head still lower, and tried to look as unhappy as 
possible, in imitation of the Princess’s expression. She 
stood still before him, and spoke briefly in imperious 
tones. 

44 What is the meaning of all this ? ” she asked. 
44 Tell me the truth at once. It will be the better for 
you.” 

44 Madam,” answered Adonis, with all the assurance 
he could muster, 44 1 think your Excellency knows the 
truth much better than I.” 

The Princess bent her black brows and her eyes 
began to gleam angrily. Titian would not have rec¬ 
ognized in her stern face the smiling features of his 
portrait of her —of the insolently beautiful Yenus 
painted by order of King Philip when the Princess 
was in the height of his favour. 

44 My friend,” she said, in a mocking tone, 44 1 know 
nothing, and you know everything. At the present 


$40 rcr the palace of the king 

moment your disappearance from the court will not 
attract even the smallest attention compared with the 
things that are happening. If you do not tell me 
what you know, you will not be here to-morrow, and 
I will see that you are burned alive for a sorcerer next 
week. Do you understand? Now tell me who killed 
Don John of Austria, and why. Be quick, I have no 
time to lose.” 

Adonis made up his mind very suddenly that it 
would be better to disobey Don John than the angry 
woman who was speaking to him. 

“Nobody killed him,” he answered bluntly. 

The Princess was naturally violent, especially with 
her inferiors, and when she was angry she easily lost 
all dignity. She seized the dwarf by the arm and 
shook him. 

“ No jesting ! ” she cried. “ He did not kill himself 
— who did it?” 

“Nobody,” repeated Adonis doggedly, and quite 
without fear, for he knew how glad she would be to 
know the truth. “ His Highness is not dead at all — ” 

“You little hound!” The Princess shook him 
furiously again and threatened to strike him with her 
other hand. 

He only laughed. 

“Before heaven, Madam,” he said, “the Prince is 
alive and recovered, and is sitting in his chair. I 
have just been talking with him. Will you go with 
me to his Highness’s apartment ? If he is not there^ 
and safe, burn me for a heretic to-morrow.” 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 841 

The Princess’s hands dropped by her sides in sheer 
amazement, for she saw that the jester was in 
earnest. 

“He had a scratch in the scuffle,” he continued, 
“ but it was the fall that killed him, his resurrection 
followed soon afterwards — and I trust that his ascen¬ 
sion may be no further distant than your Excellency 
desires.” 

He laughed at his blasphemous jest, and the Princess 
laughed too, a little wildly, for she could hardly con¬ 
trol her joy. 

“And who wounded him?” she asked suddenly. 
“You know everything, you must know that also.” 

“Madam,” said the dwarf, fixing his eyes on hers, 
« we both know the name of the person who wounded 
Don John, very well indeed. I regret that I should 
not be able to recall it at this moment. His Highness 
has forgotten it too, I am sure.” 

The Princess’s expression did not change, but she 
returned his gaze steadily during several seconds, and 
then nodded slowly to show that she understood. 
Then she looked away and was silent for a moment. 

“ I am sorry I was rough with you, Adonis,” she said 
at last, thoughtfully. “ It was hard to believe you at 
first, and if the Prince had been dead, as we all believed, 
your jesting would have been abominable. There, —— 
she unclasped a diamond brooch from her bodice--* 
“take that, Adonis —you can turn it into money.” 

The Princess’s financial troubles were notorious, and 
she hardly ever possessed any ready gold. 


MS m THE PALACE OF THE KING 

64 1 shall keep it as the most precious of my posses¬ 
sions,” answered the dwarf readily, 

64 No,” she said quickly, “Sell it. The King —I 
mean — some one may see it if you keep it.” 

44 It shall be sold to-morrow, then,” replied the jester, 
bending his head to hide his smile, for he understood 
what she meant. 

“ One thing more,” she said; **Bon John did not 
send you down to tell this news to the court with¬ 
out warning. He meant that I should know it before 
any one else. You have told me — now go away and 
do not tell others.” 

Adonis hesitated a moment. He wished to do Don 
John's bidding 1! he could, but he knew his danger, 
and that he should be forgiven if, to save his own head, 
he did not execute the commission. The Princess 
wished an immediate answer, and she had no difficulty 
in guessing the truth. 

“ His Highness sent you to find Dona Dolores,” she 
said. “ Is that not true ? ” 

“It is true,” replied Adonis, “But,” he added, 
anticipating her wish out of fear, « it .is not easy to find 
Doha Dolores.” 

“It is impossible. Did you expect to find her by 
waiting in this corner! Adonis, it is safer for you to 
serve me than Don John, and in serving me you will 
help his interests. You know that. Listen to me — 
Doha Dolores must believe him dead till to-morrow 
morning. She must on no account find mi that hi 
la alive.” 


A LOVE STORY OP OLD MADRID 


m 


At that moment the officer who had offered to get 
Information for the dwarf returned*. Seeing the latter 
in conversation with such a great personage* he waited 
at a little distance. 

u If you have found out where Dona Dolores de Men® 
doza is at this moment* my dear sir,’* said Adonis* 
u pray tell the Princess of Eboli, who is very anxious 
to know.’* 

The officer bowed and came nearer. 

** Dona Dolores de Mendoza is in Ms Majesty’s 
apartment/* he §§icL 


CHAPTER XX 


md Ruv Gomez; had passed through t&e 
cuter vestibule, and he left her to pursue Ms way tow¬ 
ards the western end of the Alcazar* which was at 
a considerable distance from the royal apartments. 
Dolores went down the corridor till she came to the 
niche and the picture before which Doe John had 
paused to read the Princess of Ebolfs letter after 
supper* She stopped a moment, for she suddenly felt 
that her strength was exhausted and that she must 
rest or break down altogether. She leaned her weight 
against the elaborately carved railing that shut off the 
niche like a shrine, and looked at the painting, which 
was one of Raphael’s smaller masterpieces, a Holy 
Family so smoothly and delicately painted that it 
jarred upon her at that moment as something untrue 
End out of all keeping with possibility. Though most 
perfectly drawn and coloured, the spotlessly neat figures 
with their airs of complacent satisfaction seemed hor° 
rifely out of place in the world of suffering she was 
condemned to dwell in, and she fancied, somewhat 
ii reverently and resentfully, that they would look as 
much out of keeping with their surroundings in a 
heaven that must be won by the endurance of paim 


A DOYM OT0BY OF OLD MADRID M5 

Th®k complacent smiles seemed meant for her anguish, 
md she turned from the picture in displeasure, and 
went on. 

She was going back to her sister on the terrace, and 
she was going to kneel once more beside the dear head 
ol the man she had loved, and to saj one last prayer 
before his face was covered for ever® At the thought 
she felt that she needed no rest again, for the vision 
drew her to the sorrowful presence of its reality, and 
she could not have stopped again if she had wished to* 
She must go straight on, on to the staircase, up the 
long Eight of steps, through the lonely corridors, and 
out at last to the moonlit terrace where Inez was wait¬ 
ing. She went forward in a dream, without pausing® 
Since she had freed her father she had a light to go 
back to her grief* But as she went along, lightly and 
quickly, it seemed beyond her own belief that shs 
should have found strength for what she had done 
that night. For the strength of youth is elastic and 
far beyond its own knowledge* Dolores had reached 
the last passage that led out upon the terrace, when 
she heard hurrying footsteps behind her, and a woman 
in a cloak slipped beside her, walking very easily and 
smoothly* It was the Princess of Eboli She had left 
the dwarf, after frightening him into giving up his 
seafrch for Dolores, and she was hastening to Don 
■ John’s rooms to make sure that the jester had not 
deceived her or been himself deceived in some way 
she could not understand. 

Dolores had lost her clods in the hall, and wm bar®- 


846 


IN THE PALACE OP THE KINO 


headed, in her court dress. The Princess recognised 
her in the gloom and stopped her. 

“I have looked for you everywhere,” she said. 
“Why did you run away from me before?” 

“ It was my blind sister who was with you,” answered 
Dolores, who knew her voice at once and had under 
stood from her father what had happened. “Where 
are you going now?” she asked, without giving the 
Princess time to put a question. 

“I was looking for you. I wish you to come and 
stay with me to-night — ” 

“ I will stay with my father. I thank you for your 
kindness, but I would not on any account leave him 
now.” 

“Your father is in prison— in the west tower — he 
has just been sent there. How can you stay with 
him ? ” 

“You are well informed,” said Dolores quietly, 
“But your husband is just now gone to release him. 
I gave Don Ruy Gomez the order which his Majesty 
had himself placed in my hands, and the Prince 'was 
kind enough to take it to the west tower himself. My 
father is unconditionally free.” 

The Princess looked fixedly at Dolores while the 
girl was speaking, but it was very dark in the corridor 
and the lamp was flickering to go out zn the night 
breeze. The only explanation of Mendoza’s releas# 
lay in the fact that the King was already aware that 
Don John was alive and in no danger. In that case 
Dolores knew it, too. It was no great matter, though 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 841 

Eke had hoped to keep the girl out of the way of hear* 
ing the news for a day or two. Dolores’ mournful 
face might have told her that she was mistaken, if 
there had been more light 5 but it was far too dark to 
see shades of colour or expression. 

“So your father is free ! ” she said, “Of course, 
that was to be expected, but I am glad that he has 
been set at liberty at ©nee,** 

“I do not think it was exactly to be expected,” 
answered Dolores, in some surprise, and wondering 
whether there could have been any simpler way of 
getting what she had obtained by such extraordinary 
means. 

“He might have been kept under arrest until to¬ 
morrow morning, I suppose,’’ said the Princess quietly, 
“But the King is of course anxious to destroy the 
unpleasant impression produced by this absurd affair, 
as soon as possible.” 

it Absurd ! ” Dolores’ anger rose and overflowed at 
the word. “ Do you dare to use such a word to m3 

to-night ? ” 

“My dear Dolores, why do you lose your temper 
about such a thing?” asked the Princess, in a con¬ 
ciliatory tone. “ Of course if it had all ended as we 
expected it would, I never should use such a word — 
if Don John had died—” 

“What do you mean?” Dolores held her by ths 
wrist in an instant and the maddest excitement was hi 
her voice. 

“What I mean? Why — ” the Princess stopped 


348 


IN THE PALACE OF THE KINS 


short, realizing that Dolores might not know the truth 
after all. “ What did I say ? ” she asked, to gain time. 
“ Why do you hold my hand like that ?” 

“You called the murder of Don John an absurd 
affair, and then you said, ‘if Don John had died’ — 
as if he were not lying there dead in his room, twenty 
paces from where you stand ! Are you mad ? Are 
you playing some heartless comedy with me? What 
does it all mean ? ” 

The Princess was very worldly wise, and she saw at 
a glance that she must tell Dolores the truth. If she 
did not, the girl would soon learn it from some one 
else, but if she did, Dolores would always remember 
who had told her the good news. 

“ My dear,” she said very gently, “ let my wrist go 
and let me take your arm. We do not understand 
each other, or you would not be so angry with me. 
Something has happened of which you do not know — ” 
“ Oh, no ! I know the whole truth ! ” Dolores inter- 
rupted her, and resisted being led along in a slow walk. 
“ Let me go to him ! ” she cried. “ I only wish to see 
him once more — ” 

“But, dearest child, listen to me —if I do not tell 
you everything at once, it is because the shock might 
hurt you. There is some hope that he may not die — ” 

“ Hope ! Oh no, no, no ! I saw him lying dead — n 
“ He had fainted, dear. He was not dead — ” 

“Not dead? Dolores’ voice broke. “Tell me-"* 3 
tell me quickly.” She pressed her hand to her side. 
“No. He came to himself after you had left him«** 


JL 3D0Y1S STORY OF OLD MADRID MB 

he is alive. No—-listen to me — yes, dear, he is alive 
and not much hurt. The wound was a scratch, and he 
was only stunned-—he is well — to-morrow he will be 
as well as ever — ah, dear, I told you so ! ” 

Dolores had borne grief, shame, torment of mind that' 
night, as bravely as ever a woman bore all three, but 
the joy of the truth that he lived almost ended her life 
then and there. She fell back upon the Princess’s arm 
and threw out her hands wildly, as if she were fighting 
for breath, and the lids of her eyes quivered violently 
and then were quite still, and she uttered a short, 
unnatural sound that was more like a groan of pain 
than a cry of happiness. 

The Princess was very strong, and held her, steady- 
ing herself against the wall, thinking anything better 
than to let her slip to the floor and lie swooning on the 
stone pavement. But the girl was not unconscious, 
and in a moment her own strength returned. 

“ Let me go ! ” she cried wildly. “ Let me go tc 
him, or I shall die ! ” 

“Go, child — go,” said the Princess, with an accent 
of womanly kindness that was rare in her voice. But 
Dolores did not hear it, for she was already gone. 

Dolores saw nothing in the room, as she entered, 
but the eyes of the man she loved, though Inez was 
still beside him. Dolores threw herself wildly into 
his arms and hid her face, crying out incoherent 
words between little showers of happy tears; and 
her hands softly beat upon his shoulders and against 
his neck, and stole up wondering to his cheeks and 


350 


DT THE PALACE OP THE KING 


touched his hair, as she drew back her head and 
held him still to look at him and see that he was 
whole. She had no speech left, for it was altogether 
beyond the belief of any sense but touch itself that 
a man should rise unhurt from the dead, to go on 
living as if nothing not common had happened in 
his life, to have his strength at once, to look into 
her eyes and rain kisses on the lids still dark with 
grief for his death. Sight could not believe the 
sight, hearing could not but doubt the sound, yet 
her hands held him and touched him, and it was 
he, unhurt saving for a scratch and a bruise. In 
her overwhelming happiness, she had no questions, 
and the first syllables that her lips could shape made 
broken words of love, and of thanks to Heaven that he 
had been saved alive for her, while her hands still 
fluttered to his face and beat gently and quickly 
on his shoulders and his arms, as if fearing lest he 
should turn to incorporeal light, without substance 
under her touch, and vanish then in air, as happiness 
does in a dream, leaving only pain behind. 

But at last she threw back her head and let him 
go, and her hands brushed away the last tears from 
her grey eyes, and she looked into his face and 
smiled with parted lips, drinking the sight of him 
with her breath and eyes and heart. One moment 
so, and then they kissed as only man and woman 
can when there has been death between them and 
it is gone not to come back again. 

Then memory returned, though very slowly and 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 


361 


broken in many places, for it seemed to her as if 
she had not been separated from him a moment, and 
as if he must know all she had done without hear¬ 
ing her story in words. The time had been so short 
since she had kissed him last, in the little room 
beyond: there had been the minutes of waiting until 
the King had come, and then the trying of the door, 
and then the quarrel, that had lasted a short ten 
minutes to end in Don John’s fall; then the half 
hour during which he had lain unconscious and alone 
till Inez had come at the moment when Dolores had 
gone down to the throne room; and after that the 
short few minutes in which she had met her father, 
and then her interview with the King, which had 
not lasted long, and now she was with him again; 
and it was not two hours since they had parted — 
a lifetime of two hours. 

“ I cannot believe it! ” she cried, and now she 
laughed at last. “I cannot, I cannot! It is im¬ 
possible ! ” 

44 We are both alive,” he answered. 44 We are both 
flesh and blood, and breathing. I feel as if I had 
been in an illness or in a sleep that had lasted very 
long.” 

“ And I in an awful dream.” Her face grew grave 
as she thought of what was but just passed. “You 
must know it all — surely you know it already—oh, 
yes! I need not tell it all.” 

“Something Inez has told me,” he replied, “and 
some things I guess, but I do not know everything. 


852 


IN THE PALACE OF THE KING 


You must try and tell me — but you should not be 
here — it is late. When my servants know that I 
am living, they will come back, and my gentlemen 
and my officers. They would have left me here all 
night, if I had been really dead, lest being seen near 
my body should send them to trial for my death.” 
He laughed. “ They were wise enough in their way. 
But you cannot stay here.” 

“ If the whole court found me here, it would not 
matter,” answered Dolores. “ Their tongues can taka 
nothing from my name which my own words have 
not given them to feed on.” 

“ I do not understand,” he said, suddenly anxious. 
“What have you said? What have you done?” 

Inez came near them from the window, by which 
she had been standing. She laid a hand on Dolores' 
arm. 

“ I will watch,” she said. “ If I hear anything, X 
will warn you, and you can go into the small room 
again.” 

She went out almost before either of them could 
thank her. They had, indeed, forgotten her pres¬ 
ence in the room, being accustomed to her being 
near them; but she could no longer bear to stay, 
listening to their loving words that made her loneli¬ 
ness so very dark. And now, too, she had memories 
of her own, which she would keep secret to the end 
of her life, beautiful and happy recollections of 
that sweet moment when the man that seemed dead 
had breathed and had clasped her in his arms, tak- 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 35S 

lug her for the other, and had kissed her as he 
would have kissed the one he loved. She knew at 
last what a kiss might be, and that was much; but 
she knew also what it was to kneel by her dead love 
and to feel his life come back, breath by breath and 
beat by beat, till he was all alive; and few women 
have felt that or can guess how great it is to feel. 
It was better to go out into the dark and listen, lest 
any one should disturb the two, than to let her 
memories of short happiness be marred by hearing 
words that were not meant for her. 

“ She found you ? ” asked Dolores, when she was 
gone. 

“Yes, she found me. You had gone down, she 
said, to try and save your father. He is safe now! ” 
he laughed. 

“She found you alive.” Dolores lingered on the 
words. “I never envied her before, I think; and 
it is not because if I had stayed I should have suf¬ 
fered less, dear.” She put up her hands upon his 
shoulders again. “It is not for that, but to have 
thought you dead and to have seen you grow alive 
again, to have watched your face, to have seen your 
eyes wake and the colour come back to your cheeks 
and the warmth to your dear hands! I would have 
given anything for that, and you would rather that 
I should have been there, would you not?” She 
laughed low and kissed away the answer from his 
lips. “If I had stayed beside you, it would have 
been sooner, love. You would have felt me there 


2 A 


354 


IN THE PALACE OF THE KING 


even in your dream of death, and you would hare 
put out your hand to come back to me. Say that 
you would! You could not have let me lie there 
many minutes longer breaking my heart over you 
and wanting to die, too, so that we might be buried 
together. Surely my kisses would have brought you 
back ! ” 

“ I dreamed they did, as mine would you.” 

“ Sit down beside me,” she said presently. “ It will 
be very hard to tell — and it cannot be very long 
before they come. Oh, they may find me here! It 
cannot matter now, for I told them all that I had been 
long in your room to-night. ” 

“ Told them all? Told whom? The King? What 
did you say ? ” His face was grave again. 

The King, the court, the whole world. But it is 
harder to tell you.” She blushed and looked away. 
“ It was the King that wounded you — I heard you fall. ” 
“ Scratched me. I was only stunned for a while.” 

“ He drew his sword, for I heard it. You know the 
sound a sword makes when it is drawn from a leathern 
sheath? Of course—you are a soldier! I have often 
watched my father draw his, and I know the soft, long 
pull. The King drew quickly, and I knew you were 
unarmed, and besides — you had promised me that you 
would not raise your hand against him.” 

“ I remember that my sword was on the table in its 
scabbard. I got it into my hand, sheathed as it was, 
to guard myself. Where is it ? I had forgotten that.’ 
It must be somewhere on the floor.” 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 


355 


“Never mind — your men will find it. You fell, 
and then there was silence, and presently I heard my 
father’s voice saying that he had killed you defenceless. 
They went away. I was half dead myself when I fell 
there beside you on the floor. There — do you see? 
You lay with your head towards the door and one arm 
out. I shall see you so till I die, whenever I think 
of it. Then —I forget. Adonis must have found me 
there, and he carried me away, and Inez met me on the 
terrace and she had heard my father tell the King that 
he had murdered you — and it was the King who had 
done it! Do you understand? ” 

“I see, yes. Go on!” Don John was listening 
breathlessly, forgetting the pain he still suffered from 
time to time. 

“And then I went down, and I made Don Ruy 
Gomez stand beside me on the steps, and the whole 
court was there—the Grandees and the great dukes 
of Alva, Medina Sidonia, Medina Celi, Infantado, the 
Princess of Eboli —the Ambassadors, every one, all the 
maids of honour, hundreds and hundreds—an ocean 
of faces, and they knew me, almost all of them.” 

“What did you say?” asked Don John very anx¬ 
iously. “ What did you tell them all? That you had 
been here?” 

uYes_more than that, much more. It was not 

true, but I hoped they would believe it. I said — ” 
the colour filled her face and she caught her breath. 
“Oh, how can I tell you? Can you not guess what 
I said?” 


356 


IN THE PALACE OF THE KING 


“That we were married already, secretly?” he 
asked. “ You might have said that.” 

“No. Not that — no one would have believed me. 
I told them,” she paused and gathered her strength, 
and then the words came quickly, ashamed of being 
heard — “I told them that I knew my father had no 
share in the crime, because I had been here long 
to-night, in this room, and even when you were killed, 
and that I was here because I had given you all, my 
life, my soul, my honour, everything.” 

“ Great God ! ” exclaimed Don John, starting. “ And 
you did that to save your father ? ” 

She had covered her face with her hands for a 
moment. Then suddenly she rose and turned away 
from him, and paced the floor. 

“ Yes. I did that. What was there for me to do ? 
It was better that I should be ruined and end in a 
convent than that my father should die on the scaffold. 
What would have become of Inez ? ” 

“What would have become of you?” Don John’s 
eyes followed her in loving wonder. 

“It would not have mattered. But I had thrown 
away my name for nothing. They believed me, I 
think, but the King, to spare himself, was determined 
that my father should die. We met as he was led 
away to prison. Then I went to the King himself — 
and when I came away I had my father’s release in my 
hand. Oh, I wish I had that to do again ! I wish 
you had been there, for you would have been proud of 
me, then. I told him he had killed you, I heard him 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 


357 


confess it, I threatened to tell the court, the world* 
all Spain, if he would not set my father free. But 
the other — can you forgive me, dear ? ” 

She stood before him now, and the colour was fainter 
in her cheeks, for she trusted him with all her heart,, 
and she put out her hands. 

“Forgive you? What? For doing the bravest 
thing a woman ever did ? ” 

“ I thought you would know it in heaven and under¬ 
stand,” she said. “It is better that you know it on 
earth — but it was hard to tell.” 

He held her hands together and pressed them to his 
lips. He had no words to tell her what he thought. 
Again and again he silently kissed the firm white 
fingers folded in his own. 

“ It was magnificent,” he said at last. “ But it will 
be hard to undo, very hard.” 

“ What will it ever matter, since we know it is not 
true ? ” she asked. “ Let the world think what it will, 
say what it likes — ” 

“ The world shall never say a slighting word of you,” 
he interrupted. “ Do you think that I will let the 
world say openly what I would not hear from the King 
alone between these four walls? There is no fear of 
that, love. I will die sooner.” 

“ Oh, no ! ” she cried, in sudden fear. “ Oh, do not 
speak of death again to-night! I cannot bear the 
word! ” 

“ Of life, then, of life together, — of all our lives in 
peace and love! But first this must be set right. It 


m 


m THE PALACE OF THE KING 


Is late, but thi3 must be done now —at once. Thera 
is only one way, there is only one thing to be done.” 

He was silent for a moment, and his eyes looked 
quickly to the door and back to Dolores’ face. 

“I cannot go away,” she cried, nestling to him. 
64 You will not make me go? Y/hat does it matter?” 

“It matters much. It will matter much more here¬ 
after.” He was on his feet, and all his energy and 
graceful strength came back as if he had received no 
hurt. “ There is little time left, but what there is, is 
ours. Inez I ” He was at the door. “ Is no one there 
upon the terrace? Is there no servant, no sentry? 
Ho, there I Who are you ? Come here, man I Let 
me see your face I Adonis ? ” 

Inez and the dwarf were in the door. Dolores wa* 
behind him, looking out, not knowing what he mean$ 
to do. He had his hand on the dwarf’s arm in his 
haste. The crooked creature looked up, half in fear, 
w Quick 1 Go! ” cried Don John. « Get me a priest* 
& monk, a bishop, —~ anything that wears a frock and 
can speak Latin. Bring him here® Threaten his life, 
in my name, if you like. Tell him Don John of Austria 
is in extreme need, and must have a priest. Quick* 
man I Fly f Your life and fortune are in your legs 2 
Off, man 1 Off!” 

Adonis was already gone, rolling through the gloom 
with swinging arms, more like a huge bat than any- 
thing human, and at a rate of speed none would hav^ 
guessed latent in his little twisted Dm Jobr 

■irew back within- the dam. 


A fcOV® STORY OF OIJJ MABEIB 839 

^ Stay within,” he said to Dolores, gently pressing 
feer backwards into the room. u I will let no one pas® 
till the priest comes; and then the world may come, 
too, and welcome, — and the court and the King, and 
the devil and all his angels ? 99 He laughed aloud m 
his excitement. 

« You have not told me,** Dolores began, bu t her eyes 
laughed in his. 

“ But you know without words,'"* he answered* 
44 When that is done which a priest can do in m\ 
instant, and no one else, the world is ours, with all 
it holds, in spite of men and women and Kings 1 ** 

u It is ours already, 1 ’ she cried happily, u But h this 
wise, love ? Are you not too quick ? ” 

64 Would you have me slow when you and-your name 
and my honour are all at stake on one quick throw ? 
Can ws play too quickly at such a game with fate? 
There will be time, just time, no more. For when the 
news is known, it will spread like fire. I wonder that 
no one comes yet.” 

. He listened, and Inez’ hearing was ten times mors 
sensitive than his, but there was m sound. For besides 
Dolores and Inez only the dwarf and the Princess of 
Eboli knew that Don John was living; and the Princess 
had imposed silence on the jester and was in no haste 
to tell the news until she should decide who was to 
know it first and how her own advantage could he 
secured. So there was time, and Adonis swung him¬ 
self along the dim corridor and up winding stairs that 
lie knew, and roused the little wizened priest who ltod 


m TEE PALACE OF THE KDT0 

In the west tower all alone, and whose duty it was to 
gay a mass each morning for any prisoner who chanced 
to be locked up there ; and when there was no one in 
confinement he said his mass for himself in the small 
chapel which was divided from the prison only by a 
heavy iron grating. The jester sometimes visited him 
in his lonely dwelling and shocked and delighted him 
with alternate tales of the court’s wickedness and with 
harmless jokes that made his wizened cheeks pucker 
and wrinkle into unaccustomed smiles. And he had 
some hopes of converting the poor jester to a pious life. 
So they were friends. But when the old priest heard 
that Don John of Austria was suddenly dying in hk 
room and that there was no one to shrive him,*—for 
that was the tale Adonis told, — he trembled from head 
to foot like a paralytic, and the buttons of his cassock 
became as drops of quicksilver and slipped from his 
weak fingers everywhere except into the buttonholes, so 
that the dwarf had to fasten them for him in a furious 
hurry, and find his stole, and set his hat upon bis 
bead, and polish away the tears of excitement from 
his cheeks with his own silk handkerchief. Yet it was 
well done, though so quickly, and he had a kind old 
face and was a good priest. 

But when Adonis had almost carried him to Doa 
John’s door, and pushed him into the room, and when he 
saw that the man he supposed to be dying was standing 
upright, holding a most beautiful lady by the band, he 
drew back, seeing that he had been deceived, and su& 
peering that he was to he asked to do something foi 


A M>VB STORY OF OLD MABRIB 861 

which be bad no authority. The dwarfs long am was 
behind him, however, and he could not escape. 

46 This is the priest of the west tower, your High¬ 
ness,” said Adonis. 44 He is a good priest, but he is a 
little frightened now.” 

44 You need fear nothing,” said Don John kindly. 
64 1 am Don John of Austria. This lady is Doha Maria 
Dolores de Mendoza. Marry us without delay. W© 
take each other for man and wife,” 

44 But — ” the little priest hesitated — 44 but, your 
Highness—-the banns -—or the bishop’s license — 

44 1 am above banns and licenses, my good sir,” am 
swered Don John, 44 and if there is anything lacking in 
the formalities, I take it upon myself to set all right to¬ 
morrow. 1 will protect you, never fear. Make haste, 
for I cannot wait. Begin, sir, lose no time, and take 
my word for the right of what you do.* 9 

44 The witnesses of. this,” faltered the old man, seeing 
that he must yield, but doubtful still. 

44 This lady is Doha Inez de Mendoza,” said Don 
John, 44 and this is Miguel de Antona, the court jester. 
They are sufficient.” 

So it chanced that the witnesses of Don John of 
Austria's secret marriage were a blind girl and the 
King’s fool. 

The aged priest cleared his throat and began to say 
the words in Latin, and Don John and Dolores held 
their clasped hands before him, not knowing what else 
to do, and each looked into the other’s eyes and saw 
there the whole world that had any meaning for the 


IDS OTB PALACE OF THE KI3ST© 


nm 


while the priest said things they but half understood, 
but that made the world’s difference to them, then and 
afterwards. 

It was soon done, and he raised his trembling hand 
and blessed them, saying the words very softly and 
clearly and without stumbling, for they were familiar, 
and meant much; and having reached them, his haste 
was over. The dwarf was on his knees, his rough red 
head bent reverently low, and on the other side Inez 
knelt with joined hands, her blind eyes turned upward 
to her sister’s face, while she prayed that all blessings of 
life and joy might be on the two she loved so well, and 
that they might have for ever and unbroken the i nfin ite 
happiness she had felt for one instant that night, not 
meant for her, but dearer to her than ail memories off 
hopes. 

Then as the priest’s words died away in the silent 
room, there was a sound of many feet and of many 
voices on the terrace outside, coming nearer and nearer 
to the door, very quickly; and the priest looked round 
in terror, not knowing what new thing was to com© 
upon him, and wishing with all Ms heart that he were 
safe in Ms tower room again and out of all harm’s way. 
But Don John smiled, while he still held Dolores’ hand, 
and the dwarf rose quickly and led the priest into the 
study where Dolores had been shut up so long, and 
closed the door behind him. 

That was hardly done when the outer door was opened 
wide, and a clear, formal voice was heard speaking out- 
side. 


A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 801 

w His Majesty the King! w cried the chamberlain wh© 
walked before Philip. 

Dolores dropped Don John’s hand and stood beside 
Mm, growing a little pale; but his face was serene and 
high, and he smiled quietly as he went forward to meet 
his brother. The King advanced also, with outstretched 
arms, and he formally embraced Don John, to exhibit 
his joy at such an unexpected recovery. 

Behind him came in torch-bearers and guards and 
many of the court who had joined the train, and in the 
front rank Mendoza, grim and erect, but no longer ashy 
pale, and Huy Gomes with him, and the Princess of 
Eholi, and all the chief Grandees of Spain, filling the 
wide bedchamber from side to side with a flood of rich 
colour in which the little constellations of their jewels 
shone here and there with changing lights. 

Out of respect for the King they did not speak, and 
yet there was a soft sound of rejoicing in the room, and 
their very breathing was like a murmur of deep satisfac¬ 
tion. Then the King spoke, and all at once the silence 
was profound. 

“ I wished to be the first to welcome my dear brother 
back to life,” he-said. 44 The court has been in mourn¬ 
ing for you these two hours, and none has mourned 
you more deeply and sorrowfully than I. We would all 
know the cause of your Highness’s accident, the mean¬ 
ing of our friend Mendoza’s strange self-accusation, and 
of other things we cannot understand without a word 
from you.” 

The chair in which Don John had sat to read 


§04 m THE PALACE OF THE KOTG 

Dolores’ letter was brought forward, and the King took 
his seat in it, while the chief officers of the household 
grouped themselves round him. Don John remained 
standing, facing him and all the rest, while Dolores 
drew back a little into the shadow not far from him. 
The King’s unmoving eyes watched him closely, even 
anxiously. 

“ The story is short, Sire, and if it is not all clear, I 
shall crave your Majesty’s pardon for being silent on 
certain points which concern my private life. I was 
alone this evening in my room here, after your Majesty 
had left supper, and I was reading. A man came to 
visit me then whom I have known and trusted long. 
We were alone, we have had differences before, tonight 
sharp words passed between us. I ask your Majesty’s 
permission not to name that man, for I would not do 
him an injury, though it should cost me my life.” 

His eyes were fixed on the King, who slowly nodded 
his assent. He had known that he could trust his 
brother not to betray him, and he wondered what was 
to come next. Don John smiled a little as he went on. 

“ There were sharp words,” he said, 44 and being men, 

steel was soon out, and I received this scratch here_a 

mere nothing. But as chance would have it I fell back¬ 
ward and was so stunned that I seemed dead. And 
then, as I learn, my friend Mendoza there came in, 
either while we fought, or afterwards, and understood 
— and so, as I suppose, in generous fear for my good 
name, lest it should be told that I had been killed in 
some dishonest brawl, or for a woman’s sake—my friend 


a LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID MB 

Mendoza, in the madness of generosity, and because my 
love for his beautiful daughter might give the tale some 
colour, takes all the blame upon himself, owns himself 
murderer, loses his wits, and well-nigh loses his head, 
too. So I understand the matter, Sire.’ 9 

He paused a moment, and again the King slowly 
nodded, but this time he smiled also, and seemed much 
pleased, 

“For what remains,’ 9 Don John continued, “that is 
soon explained. This brave and noble lady whom you 
found here, you all know. I have loved her long and 
faithfully, and with all my heart. Those who know 
me, know that my word is good, and here before your 
Majesty, before man and before Heaven, I solemnly 
swear upon my most sacred word that no harm has ever 
come near her, by me, or by another. Yet, in the hop© 
of saving her father’s life, believing and yet not believ¬ 
ing that he might have hurt me in some quarrel, sh© 
went among you, and told you the tale you know. I 
ask your Majesty to say that my word and oath are 
good, and thereby to give your Majesty’s authority to 
what I say. And if there is any man here, or in Spain, 
among your Majesty’s subjects, who doubts the word 1 
give, let him say so, for this is a grave matter, and 
I wish to be believed before I say more.” 

A third time the King nodded, and this time not 
ungraciously, since matters had gone well for him. 

“For myself,” he said, “I would take your word 
against another man’s oath, and I think there is no one 
bold enough to question what we both believe." 


§66 m THE PAEACE OF THE KINO- 

“I thank your Majesty, And moreover, I desire 
permission to present to your Majesty-—*” 

He took Dolores’ hand and drew her forward, 
though she came a little unwillingly, and was pale, 
and her deep grey eyes gazed steadily at the King’s 
face. 

“ — My wedded wife,” said Don John, completing 
the sentence. 

“Yourwife!” exclaimed the King, in great surprise. 
“ Are you married already?” 

“Wedded man and wife, Sire,” answered Don John, 
in tones that all could hear. 

“ And what does Mendoza say to this ? ” asked Philip, 
looking round at the veteran soldier. 

“ That his Highness has done my house a great hon¬ 
our, your Majesty; and I pray that my daughter and I 
be not needlessly separated hereafter.” 

His glance went to Dolores’ triumphant eyes almost 
timidly, and then rested on her face with a look she had 
never seen in his, save on that evening, but which she 
always found there afterwards. And at the same time 
the hard old man drew Inez close to him, for she had 
found him among the officers, and she stood by him and 
rested her arm on his with a new confidence. 

Then, as the King rose, there was a sound of glad 
voices in the room, as all talked at once and each told 
the other that an evil adventure was well ended, and 
that Don John of Austria was the bravest and the hand* 
somest and the most honourable prince in the world, 
and that Maria Dolores de Mendoza had not her equal 


A LOYE STORY OF OLD MABRIB 86? 

among women for beauty and high womanly courage 
and perfect devotion. 

But there were a few who were ill pleased; for An¬ 
tonio Perez said nothing, and absently smoothed his 
black hair with his immaculate white hand, and the 
Princess of Eboli was very silent, too, for it seemed to 
her that Don John’s sudden marriage, and his reconcili¬ 
ation with his brother, had set back the beginning of 
her plan beyond the bounds of possible accomplish¬ 
ment ; and she was right in that, and the beginning of 
her resentment against Don John for having succeeded 
in marrying Dolores in spite of every one was the be¬ 
ginning of the chain that led her to her own dark fate. 
For though she held the cards long in her hands after 
that, and played for high stakes, as she had done before, 
fortune failed her at the last, and she came to unutter¬ 
able ruin. 

It may be, too, that Don John’s splendid destiny was 
measured on that night, and cut off beforehand, though 
his most daring fights were not yet fought, nor his 
greatest victories won. To tell more here would be to 
tell too much, and much, too, that is well told else¬ 
where. But this is true, that he loved Dolores with all 
his heart; that the marriage remained a court secret $ 
and that she bore him one fair daughter, and diou, and 
the child grew up under another reign, a holy nun, 
and was abbess of the convent of Las Hueigas whither 
Dolores was to nave gone on the morning after that 
'“lost eventful night. 


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THE INSIDE OF THE CUP. Illustrated by Howard Giles. 

The Reverend John Hodder is called to a fashionable church in 
a middle-western city. He knows little of modem problems and in 
his theology is as orthodox as the rich men who control his church 
could desire. But the facts of modern life are thrust upon him; an 
awakening follows and in the end he works out a solution. 

A FAR COUNTRY. Illustrated by Herman Pfeifer. 

This novel is concerned with big problems of the day. As The 
Inside of the Cup gets down to the essentials in its discussion of re¬ 
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A MODERN CHRONICLE. Illustrated by J. H. Gardner Soper. 

This, Mr. Churchill’s first great presentation of the Eternal 
Feminine, is throughout a profound study of a fascinating young 
American woman. It is frankly a modern love story. 

MR. CREWE’S CAREER. Illus. by A. I. Keller and Kinneys. 

A new England state is under the political domination of a rail¬ 
way and Mr. Crewe, a millionaire, seizes a moment when the cause 
of the people is being espoused by an ardent young attorney, to fur¬ 
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THE CROSSING. Illustrated by S. Adamson and L. Baylis. 

Describing the battle of Fort Moultrie, the blazing of the Ken¬ 
tucky wilderness, the expedition of Clark and his handful of follow¬ 
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Mississippi, and the treasonable schemes against Washington. 
CONISTON. Illustrated by Florence Scovel Shinn. 

A deft blending of love and politics. A New Englander is the 
hero, a crude man who rose to political prominence by his own pow¬ 
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THE CELEBRITY. An episode. 

An inimitable bit of comedy describing an interchange of per*' 
sonalities between a celebrated author and a bicycle salesman. It 
is the purest, keenest fun—and is American to the core. 

THE CRISIS . Illustrated with scenes from the Photg-Play. 

A book that presents the great crisis in our national life with 
splendid power and with a sympathy, a sincerity, and a patriotism 
that are inspiring. 

RICHARD CARVEL. Illustrated by Malcolm Frazer. 

An historical novel which gives a real and vivid picture of Co¬ 
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interesting throughout. 


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JACK LONDON’S NOVELS 

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JOHN BARLEYCORN. Illustrated by H. T. Dunn. 

This remarkable book is a record of the author’s own amazing 
experiences. This big, brawny world rover, who has been ac¬ 
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Barleycorn. It is a string of exciting adventures, yet it forcefully 
conveys an unforgetable idea and makes a typical Jack London book. 

THE VALLEY OF THE MOON . Frontispiece by George Harper. 

The story opens in the city slums where Billy Roberts, teamster 
and ex-prize fighter, and Saxon Brown, laundry worker, meet and 
love and marry. They tramp from one end of California to the 
other, and in the Valley of the Moon find the farm paradise that is 
to be their salvation. 

BURNING DAYLIGHT. Four illustrations. 

The story of an adventurer who went to Alaska and laid the 
foundations of his fortune before the gold hunters arrived. Bringing 
his fortunes to the States he is cheated out of it by a crowd of money 
kings, and recovers it only at the muzzle of his gun. He then starts 
out as ja merciless exploiter on his own account. Finally he takes to 
drinking and becomes a picture of degeneration. About this time 
he falls in love with his stenographer and wins her heart but not 
her hand and then—but read the story! 

A SON OF THE SUN. Illustrated by A. O. Fischer and C. W. Ashley. 

David Grief was once a light-haired, blue-eyed youth who came 
from England to the South Seas in search of adventure. Tanned 
like a native and as lithe as a tiger, he became a real son of the sun. 
The life appealed to him and he remained and became very wealthy. 

THE CALL OF THE WILD. Illustrations by Philip R. Goodwin and 
Charles Livingston Bull. Decorations by Charles E. Hooper. 
A book of dog adventures as exciting as any man’s exploits 
could be. Here is excitement to stir the blood and here is pictur¬ 
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THE SEA WOLF. Illustrated by W. J. Aylward. 

Told by a man whom Fate suddenly swings from his fastidious 
life into the power of the brutal captain of a sealing schooner. A 
novel of adventure warmed by a beautiful love episode that every 
reader will hail with delight. 

WHITE FANG. Illustrated by Charles Livingston Bull. 

*‘White Fang” is part dog, part wolf and all brute, living in the 
frozen north; he gradually comes under the spell of man’s com¬ 
panionship, and surrenders all at the last in a fight with a bull dog. 
Thereafter he is man’s loving slave. ^ 


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NOVELS OF FRONTIER LIFE BY 

WILLIAM MacLEOD RAINE 


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MAVERICKS 

A tale of the western frontier, where the “ rustler ” abounds. One of the sweetest 
1 ove stories ever told. 

A TEXAS RANGER 

How a member of the border police saved the life of an innocent man, followed a 
fugitive to Wyoming, and then passed through deadly peril to ultimate happiness. 

WYOMING 

In this vivid story the author brings out the turbid life of the frontier with all its 
engaging dash and vigor. 

RIDGWAY OF MONTANA 

The scene is laid in the mining centers of Montana, where politics and mining in¬ 
dustries are the religion of the country. 

BUCKY O’CONNOR 

Every chapter teems with wholesome, stirring adventures, replete with the dashing 
spirit of the border. 

CROOKED TRAILS AND STRAIGHT 

A story of Arizona ; of swift-ricling men and daring outlaws; of a bitter feud be¬ 
tween cattle-men and sheep-herders. 

BRAND BLOTTERS 

A story of the turbid life of the frontier with a charming love interest running 
through its pages. 

STEVE YEAGER 

A story brimful of excitement, with enough gun-play and adventure to suit anyone. 

A DAUGHTER OF THE DONS 

A Western story of romance and adventure, comprising a vivacious and stirring 
tale. 

THE HIGH GRADER 

A breezy, pleasant and amusing love story of Western mining life. 

THE PIRATE OF PANAMA 

A tale of old-time pirates and of modern love, hate and adventure. 

THE YUKON TRAIL 

A crisply entertaining love story in the land where might makes right. 

THE VISION SPLENDID 

In which two cousins are contestants for the same prizes; political honors and the 
hand of a girl. 

THE SHERIFF’S SON 

The hero finally conquers both himself and his enemies and wins the love of a 
wonderful girl. _____ 

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STORIES OF ADVENTURE 

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THE RIVER’S KND~ 

A story of the Royal Mounted Police. 

THE GOLDEN SNARE 
Thrilling adventures in the Far Northland. 

NOMADS OF THE NORTH 

The story of a bear-cub and a dog. 

KAZAN 

The tale of a “quarter-strain wolf and three-quarters husky” torn 
between the call of the human and his wild mate. 

BAREE, SON OF KAZAN 

The story of the son of the blind Grey Wolf and the gal’ant part 
he played in the lives ©f a man and a woman. 

THE COURAGE OF CAPTAIN PLUM 

The story of the King of Beaver Island, a Mormon colony, and hi* 
battle with Captain Plum. 

THE DANGER TRAIL 

A tale of love, Indian vengeance, and a mystery of the North. 
THE HUNTED WOMAN 
A tale of a great fight in the “ valley of gold” for a woman. 

THE FLOWER OF THE NORTH 

The story of Fort o’ God, where the wild flavor of the wilderness* 
is blended with the courtly atmosphere of France. 

THE GRIZZLY KING 

The story of Thor, the big grizzly. 

ISOBEL 

A love story of the Far North. 

THE WOLF HUNTERS 
A thrilling tale of adventure in the Canadian wilderness. 

THE GOLD HUNTERS 

The story of adventur® in the Hudson Bay wilds. 

THE COURAGE OF MARGE O’DOONE 
Filled with exciting incidents in the land of strong men and women.' 
BACK TO GOD’S COUNTRY 

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RALPH CONNOR’S STORIES 

OF THE NORTHWEST 

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THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN’S LAND 

The clean-hearted, strong-limbed man of the West leaves 
Ms hill3 and forests to fight the battle for freedom in the 
old world. 

BLACK ROCK 

A story of strong men in the mountains of the West. 

THE SKY PILOT 

A story of cowboy life, abounding in the freshest humor; 
the truest tenderness and the finest courage. 

THE PROSPECTOR 

A tale of the foothills and of the man who came to them 
to lend a hand to the lonely men and women who needed a 
protector. 

THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY 

This narrative brings us into contact with elemental and 
volcanic human nature and with a hero whose power breathes 
from every word. 

GLENGARRY SCHOOL DAYS 

In this rough country of Glengarry, Ralph Connor has 
found human nature in the rough. 

THE DOCTOR 

The story of a “preacher-doctor” whom big men and 
reckless men loved for his unselfish life among them. 

THE FOREIGNER 

A tale of the Saskatchewan and of a “ foreigner ” who 
made a brave and winning fight for manhood and love. 

CORPORAL CAMERON 

This splendid type of the upright, out-of-door man about 
which Ralph Connor builds all Ms stories, appears again in 
this book. 


Grosset & Dunlap, 


Publishers, New York 


























THE NOVELS OF 

GRACE LIVINGSTON HILL LUTZ 

$%f S>a tatf \sftmmw bseks are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list. 
THE BEST M AN 

Through a strange series of adventures a young man finds 
fxknself propelled up the aisle of a church and married to s 
Strange girl. 

A VO ICE IN THE WILDERNESS 

\ On her way West the heroine steps off by mistake at a lone!| 
watertank into a maze of thrilling events. 

THE ENCHANTED BARN 

• Every member of the family will enjoy this spirited chronicle 
pf a young girl’s resourcefulness and pluck, and the secret of 
the 4 4 enchanted ’ ’ barn. 

THE WITNESS 

The fascinating story of the enormous change an incident 
wrought in a man’s life. 

MARCIA SCHUYLER 

A picture of ideal girlhood set in the time of full skirU and 
poke bonnets. 

LO b MICHAEL! 

A story of unfailing appeal to all who love and understand boys. 
THE MAN OF THE DESERT 

An intensely moving love story of a man of the desert and a 
girl of the East pictured against the background of the Far West 

PHOEBE DEANE 

A tense and charming love story, told with a grace and a 
vor with which only Mrs. Luts could tell it. 

DAWN OF THE MORNING 

A romance of the last century with all of its old-fushionet; 
charm. A companion volume to “Marcia Schuyler” and 
“Phoebe Deane"” 


Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction 

Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York 


























1 IIMI1111 inm i n ' i»m». . ut*—i 

ELEANOR H. PORTER’S NOVELS 

May ba tia^i wharawr fecofes are acid. Asft far Sros set & Ooslap’s list. 

JUST DAVID 

The tale of a loveable boy and the place he comes to 
fill in the hearts of the gruff farmer folk to whose care he 
is left. 

THE ROAD TO UNDERSTANDING 

A compelling romance of love and marriage. 

OH, MONEY ! MONEY ! 

Stanley Fulton, a wealthy bachelor, to test the disposi¬ 
tions of his relatives, sends them each a check for $100,- 
000, and then as plain John Smith comes among them to 
watch the result of his experiment. 

SIX STAR RANCH 

A wholesome story of a club of six girls and their sum¬ 
mer on Six Star Ranch. 

DAWN 

The story of a blind boy whose courage leads him 
through the gulf of despair into a final victory gained by 
dedicating his life to the service of blind soldiers. 

ACROSS THE YEARS 

Short stories of our own kind and of our own people. 
Contains some of the best writing Mrs. Porter has done. 

THE TANGLED THREADS 

In these stories we find the concentrated charm and 
tenderness of all her other books. 

THE TIE THAT BINDS 

Intensely human stories told with Mrs. Porter’s won¬ 
derful talent for warm and vivid character drawing. 

Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York 

























ETHEL M. DELL’S NOVELS 

Hay bo had wherever books era sold. Ask for Srosset & Dunlap’s list 

, THE LAMP IN THE DESERT 

The scene of this splendid story is laid in India and 
sells of the lamp of love that continues to shine through 
all sorts of tribulations to final happiness. 

GREATHEART 

The story of a cripple whose deformed body conceals 
a noble soul. 

THE HUNDREDTH CHANCE 

A hero who worked to win even when there was only 
** a hundredth chance.” 

THE SWINDLER 

The story of a “bad man’s” soul revealed by a 
woman’s faith. 

THE TIDAL WAVE 

Tales of love and of women who learned to know the 
true from the false. 

THE SAFETY CURTAIN 

A very vivid love story of India. The volume also 
contains four other long stories of equal interest. 

Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York 























FLORENCE L. BARCLAY’S 
NOVELS 


_Bflay ba nad wlwrem books ar@ said. Ask for Srosset & Uuatap’s jjst 

THE WHITE LADIES OF WORCESTER ' 

"~*ATovelTFtEeT2th Century. The heroine, believing; she 
had lost her lover, enters a convent He returns, and in* 
teresting developments follow. 

THE UPAS TREE 

A love story of rare charm. It deals with a successful 
author and his wife. 

THROUGH THE POSTERN GATE 

The story of a seven day courtship, in which the dis» 
crepancy in ages vanished into insignificance before the 
convincing demonstration of abiding love. 

THE ROSARY 

The story of a young artist who is reputed to love beauty 
above all else in the world, but who, when blinded through 
an accident, gains life’s greatest happiness. A rare story 
of the great passion of two real people superbly capable of 
love, its sacrifices and its exceeding reward. 

THE MISTRESS OF SHENSTONE 
The lovely young Lady Ingleby, recently widowed by the 
death of a husband who never understood her, meets a fine, 
clean young chap who is ignorant of her title and they fall 
deeply in love with each other. When he learns her real 
identity a situation of singular power is developed. 

THE BROKEN HALO 

The story of a young man whos® religious belief was 
shattered in childhood and restored to him by the little 
white lady, many years older than himself, to whom he if 
passionately devoted. 

THE FOLLOWING OF THE STAR 

The story of a young missionary, who, about to start for 
Africa, marries wealthy Diana Rivers, in order to help her 
fulfill the conditions of her uncle’s will, and how they finally 
come to love each other and are reunited after experiences 
that soften and purify. 


Grosset & Dunlap, 


Publishers, New York ( 


























BOOTH TARKINGTON’S 
NOVELS 


Kay be had wherevsr books ar® sold. AsJ^for GSnssset & Dealap’s list. 

SEVENTEEN. Illustrated by Arthur William Brown. 

No one but the creator of Penrod could have portrayed 
the immortal young people of this story. Its humor is irre¬ 
sistible and reminiscent of the time when the reader was 
Seventeen. 

PENROD. Illustrated by Gordon Grant. 

This is a picture of a boy’s heart, full of the lovable, hu¬ 
morous, tragic things which are locked secrets to most older 
folks. It is a finished, exquisite work. 

PEN ROD AND SAM. Illustrated by Worth Brehm. 

Like “ Penrod ” and “ Seventeen,” this book contains 
some remarkable phases of real boyhood and some of the best 
stories of juvenile prankishness that have ever been written. 

THE TURMOIL. Illustrated by C. E. Chambers. 

Bibbs Sheridan is a dreamy, imaginative youth, who re¬ 
volts against his father’s plans for him to be a servitor of 
big business. The love of a fine girl turns Bibb’s life from 
failure to success. 

THE GENTLEMAN FROM INDIANA. Frontispiece. 

A story of love and politics,—more especially a picture of 
a country editor’s life in Indiana, but the charm of the book 
lies in the love interest. 

THE FLIRT. Illustrated by Clarence F. Underwood. 

The “ Flirt,” the younger of two sisters, breaks one girl’s 
engagement, drives one man to suicide, causes the murder 
of another, leads another to lose his fortune, and in the end 
marries a stupid and unpromising suitor, leaving the really 
worthy one to marry her sister. 


Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction 

Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York 


r 0h 1LL1 
















































































































































































































































































































































































































